


For Charles

by Shigai



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Artists, Charles is a Tease, Classical Music, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fanart, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Italy, M/M, Romance, pianist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shigai/pseuds/Shigai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.</p><p>Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Charles

**Author's Note:**

> The songs Erik plays are embedded on the text, so click on them if you want to listen.  
> Fanarts are all mine.  
> Mistakes are all mine too.
> 
> In this universe, mutants exist but there are really few in the whole world and they aren't powerful at all.

♯1

He can't take it anymore.

The heat is insufferable, and there's not a single cloud in the sky to cover the scorching sun and create some much-needed shade. He's been sightseeing since eleven in the morning, when the last of the paperwork necessary to rent his new apartment was finally signed and in order, and the owner of said apartment had left him to his own. It's almost two now, and the august Tuscan sun is positively murdering. Plus, he's starving.

Checking his folded tourist map and his surroundings he concludes that he's pretty close to the Piazza della Signoria, so he decides to go there. Surely he can find some nice restaurant to eat around such a touristic spot.

He's sweating when he reaches the square, frowning and swearing under his breath at the unbearable heat, but all the annoyance towards the weather abandons him as soon as he gazes up and takes in the whole impressive piazza and the grandiose Palazzo Vecchio in front of him. He takes his black iPhone out from his satchel bag and takes a couple of pictures to send to his mother, once he finds a wifi hot-spot or when he's back at the apartment and can use his already installed one.

It's only been three hours since he’s been playing the tourist, but he can already see why Florence is such a loved city. From his new apartment at the San Frediano neighbourhood, he walked following the Arno river, crossing the Ponte Vecchio into the heart of the old city, and marvelling at the architecture, the colours, the sounds. The little jewellery shops at the bridge where he had spent at least fifteen minutes ogling exquisite pieces of intricate silver, gold and gemstones that called to his powers as a siren; the views from the middle point of the bridge, where he took another handful of pictures of the river, the hills and the skyline at the riverside for his mother; the narrow streets paved with cobblestones, surrounded by those white and pastel coloured buildings with bright red tiled roofs.

Yes, Erik totally understands the fame. If only it wasn't such a hot and humid summer day.

Actually, he could have travelled here later, after the worst of the summer has passed, since he doesn't have to attend the classes until the middle of September, in exactly four weeks from now. But he wanted to have time to get himself used to the city where he's going to live for at least a whole year.

Once the awe at the piazza is satiated and he has enough photos of every beautiful corner and sculpture and fountain to entertain his mother for hours, he decides to sit at a decent looking restaurant situated right next to the open-air gallery Loggia dei Lanzi. Miraculously, he finds an outdoor seat at the restaurant’s terrace, in the shade, without having to fight any of the thousands of tourists around for it, with a perfect view of the glorious statues at the Loggia and the palazzo to his left.

A waiter arrives a second after he’s taken off his satchel bag, hurried and seemingly pretty stressed, though Erik can't blame him with the amount of customers they have to serve per minute. It’s not an exaggeration, Florence is infested with tourists. He can add that to the insufferable heat on the 'Things to not like about this city' short list he's already mentally doing. Deciding to order a simple plate of spaghetti alla gricia (pecorino cheese, bacon and onion, the waiter explained in heavily accented English) and a bottle of italian beer which name he's sure he's pronouncing wrong, he just relaxes and looks around.

People. Millions of people. Oceans of people moving everywhere, running, yelling, taking pictures, filming. Something in his mind shifts and makes him think that maybe this is all wrong, maybe he should just pack again and go back to Düsseldorf, to his mother, to his calm and ordered life. He already has a M.A. in Piano by the Royal academy of music in London, he can already pursue his piano career professionally anytime he wishes, and damn to hell whatever anyone has to tell about his style.

But no, he had to listen.

He had to listen to all those senile professors and their stupid chants of 'your style is too stoic, Erik', 'your piano is too heartless, Erik', 'you're too German, Erik', 'you should try to find your heart, Erik'. Idiots, all of them, what do they even know about him? 'Too German'. Tsk. Of course he is too German, and proud!

The cutlery on the table vibrates, Erik breathes deeply. It won't do any good to lose his temper now, being on his own, and show the hundreds of people on this place that he is a mutant. And who knows, maybe there are more mutants around, even if it’s pretty improbable. But. Better to calm himself. It's just the first day here, after all, better to go unnoticed. Better to take it easy.

The food arrives and it smells delicious. Breathing deeply again he finally feels calm enough to enjoy what turns out to be a really delicious plate of pasta, and the life-saving cold beer.

It's not really that bad, he analyzes. Florence really looks like a beautiful place that he could grow to enjoy, and he's going to take classes with Pinzauti, a famous piano teacher, in the Luigi Cherubini conservatoire. He bets he can lose his 'stoic' technique by drinking from the famous Italian passion for music. That's why he decided to come here specifically (after discussing it with his mother for days, she being the main instigator on him being in Italy to begin with). And it's only for a year, he thinks. Then he can go back to London, show all those old hags what he's learnt to shut them up, and become a professional performer once and for all.

Food devoured, his stomach content and his feet rested, he orders an espresso and lights up a cigarette. It's relaxing, sitting here in the shade, a soft summer breeze refreshing his skin, and surrounded by such impressive monuments: the Neptune fountain, the palace, all the sculptures in the Loggia.

He is distractedly admiring the sculpture closest to his position, a tall white block of three figures intertwined, a male lying down between the legs of another one who looks younger, holding a woman up who seems in despair, when his eyes wander towards the people sitting under said sculpture. Particularly to a specific man.

Said man is sitting with what looks like a wide sketchbook resting on his crossed legs, something similar to a pen but thicker on his right hand. He is looking up at the statue and then down at his sketchbook again, seemingly frowning under his sunglasses, possibly in concentration. Erik isn't sure why this man in particular takes all of his attention until he looks more carefully.

That man is pretty attractive.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharless.jpg.html)

His hair is a little long with bangs that he keeps pushing back with the hand that is holding the pen-brush thing. Dark chocolate brown, wavy, shiny. His eyes are covered by those dark sunglasses, but his facial features are striking. He has something like a peculiar nose, strong and kind of lumpy, that manages to make his face look striking, and he has beautiful shaped lips that seem pretty full and pretty red from this distance.

The man is wearing a fitted short sleeved blue t-shirt that makes a beautiful contrast to his pale skin, and what seem to be dark washed jeans, and Erik probably should stop ogling before he gets caught.

Clearing his throat he drinks the rest of his coffee and asks for the bill, raising his hand. He puts on his own aviator sunglasses and, before he even notices, his gaze has wandered back towards the sketching guy. Seriously, the more he looks the more sure he is. That man is really attractive, and Erik isn't a man who passes an opportunity of admiring pretty attractive males since it's not a common occurrence in his life.

The waiter appears suddenly with the bill, almost giving him a heart attack, concentrated as he was on admiring the handsome painter. He grabs his wallet, pulls a couple of twenty Euros notes and hands them to the waiter, who hands him the change right there from the belt bag he is carrying, wishes him a _buon giorno_ , and walks away. Erik puts out his cigarette at the ashtray, picks up his stuff, hangs on his satchel bag, walks out of the restaurant’s terrace, then turns towards the loggia.

The sketching man isn't there anymore.

He looks around the piazza, it wasn’t even a couple of minutes ago he was there, but Erik can't see the blue t-shirt anywhere, too many people. Oh well. Not like he was going to do anything about it. At least he had a nice view to enjoy with the coffee.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls his tourist map out of his jeans pocket and continues his task of exploring this beautiful city.

* * *

It's not until two days later when he has more free time to wander. More paperwork has come from Germany and the conservatoire and he has spent the past day running up and down, mailing stuff, scanning documents, signing them, revising information. He hates bureaucracy.

This day dawned with heavy rain and dark skies, and Erik has had the windows half opened to let the fresh air in his apartment. The heat is really suffocating in this city when the sun is up in the sky.

He has lunch at his place, a pasta salad with the few things he's bought so far at the small family-run groceries store from the corner of his street, and when finally the rain stops he grabs his folded map, his keys and his satchel bag with an umbrella inside, just in case, and leaves.

By now he only wanders aimlessly through the neighbourhoods, the streets, the piazzas. He still has more than three weeks to visit museums and other tourist attractions, and right now it is still peak season. It would be suicidal to try and visit those places with the hordes of tourist-sheeps lines everywhere. He has more than enough time. Better to get used to the navigation around the city first.

He decides to walk from his place to the conservatoire to check how long it takes on foot and what route to take in case he needs it some when. The conservatoire is in the via Ricasoli, and to reach it he has to go through the famous Piazza del Duomo. When he reaches said piazza, he has to sit down on a bench.

Never in his life he's seen such beauty. Never.

The immense cathedral appears suddenly, out of nowhere, magnificent and breathtaking with all the pink, white and green coloured marble pieces and the intricate decorations of the main facade. The red bricked dome at the far back seems just too big to be real. The bell tower to the right, taller than Erik had imagined it to be when seeing it from afar, as splendid as the main cathedral building. Really, he was raised in cities like Düsseldorf and Köln and has studied in London. He has seen enough cathedrals and impressive monuments to cover the span of his whole life, and yet this one. This one is like nothing he has ever seen. He barely can breathe.

“Stendhal syndrome, or Florence syndrome, they call it” Erik turns towards the voice sounding right to his left and finds himself face to face with the sketching guy in the blue t-shirt from the other day. He isn't wearing the blue t-shirt today but a white polo, but it's impossible not to recognize him. The hair, the nose, the freckled (oh god, _freckles_ ) pale skin, the red lips, the sunglasses, they’re all the same. Erik's heartbeat accelerates, not sure if it’s still the cathedral’s fault.  
“What?” He says. The other man smiles, close-mouthed.  
“Rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion or hallucinations when exposed to art, to too much beauty in the same place at the same time. That's called Stendhal syndrome or Florence syndrome since it was suffered and discovered here, and I'm afraid you're suffering a case of it, my friend” Erik is afraid he didn't follow half the sentence, lost in the other man's voice and rich accent and lips and smile.  
“... what?” The attractive sketching man laughs, and Erik thinks _now_ he is suffering that beauty syndrome thing.  
“I'm sorry, I couldn't stop myself, I saw you sitting here all gobsmacked and felt your mind going comatose and...” he shrugs.  
“Felt my mind?” Erik asks, frowning at the other and seriously thinking they're talking in different languages and, then, noticing they actually aren't. “You're talking in English!”  
“Ah, yes...” the super attractive man (the more Erik looks at him the more attractive he seems) bits his lower lip, then continues “Sorry about that, I noticed you don't think in Italian. But of course I just got passing thoughts, and I couldn't catch what language you were thinking in and I thought English was the safest bet to communicate...” And Erik understands it suddenly.  
“Telepath?” the unbelievably attractive male (really, it’s ridiculous, but his mind can’t find the correct adjective for that amount of attractiveness) looks down, biting his lip again. Erik zeroes on that detail.  
“Sorry, really, I didn't mean to pry. Sometimes I forget that telepathy makes others uncomfortable and I don't know when to shut it up and let go...” the attractive telepath sounds remorseful and Erik can't have that, so he extends one hand. The other looks up at him, eyebrows rising behind the wayfarer sunglasses.  
“Metallokinetic. Nice to meet you, fellow mutant” the telepath brightens up like a bulb and  
smiles openly now.  
“How delightful is that!” he shakes Erik's hand energetically. Then his phone rings and he lets go of Erik's hand while swearing out loud in pretty fancy words “I'm sorry mister Metallokinetic, but I'm so so late and I need to go or I’ll be castrated!” a snicker escapes Erik’s lips at that “But enjoy the Duomo and breathe deeply and see you around!” he stands up, grabs his canvas bag where Erik can see a couple of sketchbooks inside, and walks away in a hurry, looking back at him and waving.

This is all so weird, Erik thinks. What are the odds of meeting the same guy twice in this city, and of said guy actually talking to him and being a mutant too! So very few mutants in the world, and this guy is one, and... what are really the odds. Really weird. In a good, strange way.

Smiling to himself, he stands up and crosses the piazza, back to his plan of finding the conservatoire at the Ricasoli street.

* * *

A week later he can navigate the heart of the city and closest surrounding neighbourhoods without many problems anymore. He's felt the metal of the buildings, the soft magnetic pull of the earth, and he's walked its streets up and down. It's not like he knows where every street is or their correct names, but at least he can arrive to any landmark and from there he can find his way pretty easily with a map or his power alone.

He's never been bad with directions, after all, thanks to his mutation giving him a vague feeling of Earth’s magnetic field. Like a built-in compass.

The only kind of let-down is that there hasn't been any more sightings of the attractive telepath (yes, he's really calling the other like that in his mind). It's not like it's a devastating let-down or anything, but it has been long since Erik has felt that kind of pull towards anyone. It has been _really_ long. He is not a really sociable person, after all, and has spent most of the last years immersed in his piano, his studies, his compositions. He's been living only for the music.

Erik's mother, Eddie, keeps saying she’s still surprised with his career choice. Sure, she's always known Erik was really interested in music, buying classical music albums as soon as he got any money and taking her to performances at the Tonhalle or even at the Philharmonie in Köln. But Jakob, his father, always told him to follow a career that would put food in his plate, not dreams in his head.

Jakob was a construction worker and spent his life working hard and sweating to bring food and a comfortable life to his family. He was really poor during his childhood, in post-war Germany, and swore to never let his family go through something like that. It's not like he crushed Erik's dreams, he was caring and the best father he could imagine having, but he didn't fuel them either, trying to make his son see it was better to have a secure and steady job than to try and pursue something very few people ever achieve. Erik was certain he would follow his father's advices, what with his mutation manifesting at his teens and being perfect for that kind of construction labour.

Until his father died in a work accident.

He still feels as if it just happened recently, the pain and the frustration and the impotence of losing someone like that, suddenly, no chances of fixing problems or add those words you wanted to say while you could and never did. No time to get used to the idea of them not being around anymore. Just gone, suddenly. Empty spaces, suddenly.

He spent days locked in his room, infuriated with the world and all the lying gods, not understanding why it had to happen in that unfair way. And then one day he just decided. If life was like that, if life could steal everything and end at any moment, just like that, he wanted to live it to the fullest. He wanted to achieve his dreams or die fighting for them at least. He didn't want to suddenly go one day regretting all the choices he didn’t make.

No one will ever understand how thankful he really is for his mother accepting his decision, and actually cheering him to go on, to follow that path.

In resume, putting his all into his piano studies, all his strength, time and money, and being a mutant in a majorly human community made him the loner he is. He has friends, but very few, and not that close. Sure he's had romantic interests, it's not like he's a virgin, but it all became even more complicated when he discovered himself enjoying defined muscles and hard lines more than curves and soft bodies.

It's pretty understandable that a pseudo-Jewish gay mutant who's decided to be a professional classical pianist didn't have it that easy to find a large clique of good friends. It’s as if he wanted to tick all the minorities groups in his curriculum. But really, it's not like he sought to be part of any clique.

It’s just something about that telepath. Just him.

* * *

“And don't you get bored?” his mother, dressed on a white summer dress and wearing her glasses, asks him through the Skype window at his laptop.  
“Bored? Mama, I'm in a new country, in a new city, and I've only been here for three weeks” Erik shakes his head, amused, grabbing his cold bottled beer from the desk and taking a sip.  
“But you don't know anyone in there!” Eddie frowns directly at the camera and then turns again to look where Erik supposes his video screen is.  
“As if I ever needed anyone...” he mumbles, but hearing his mother sighing he's sure he's been heard.  
“Erik, my dear, you need friends. I'm not telling you to go and meet hundreds of people but...”  
“I know mama, don't worry. I'm sure I'll meet enough people once I start going to the conservatoire” Erik takes another sip from his beer. The day is again extremely warm.  
“I hope so... when do you start, again?”  
“In a couple of weeks” Eddie nods, and proceeds to ask about each and every one of the pictures Erik has been sending her.

He really doesn't need friends, he's never needed them before. It's not like he's a sociopath or anything, but he has always found it more comfortable to be on his own. He likes to dwell inside his mind, loves to listen to the sounds that life produces around him, to create music in rhythm with his breathing and his surroundings. One can't do that if there's someone else babbling around, or demanding attention, like a friend would, right?

Besides, he's had acquaintances while he was studying in London; he knows what it all is about. Silly jokes that aren’t funny at all and drinks and forced wannabe-cultured chats.

No. He doesn't think he's missing anything.

* * *

Erik wakes up to the sound of rambling thunder. The day is so dark he is not sure if the sun is out yet, but turning on his bed, extending his arm to grab his iPhone on the nightstand and pushing the button to bring the screen to life tells him it's already nine thirty in the morning.

Stretching, he moves his arms behind his head and looks at the ceiling. He thinks of getting up and opening the curtains to watch the rain, but he's too comfortable and too lazy to do so. He just stretches his right arm and grabs the cigarettes packet next to his iPhone, brings one out with the lighter that was also inside the packet, lights it, takes a drag. Relaxes.

There's nothing like waking up to the sound of a summer storm and not having to rush anywhere, to be able to just enjoy a cigarette in bed.

He sits up, his back resting against the headboard, crosses one arm over his chest while the other rests on it, the hand holding the cigarette in front of his lips. What to do today? Maybe it's finally the right time to go and visit museums. It's the first week of September and the big bulk of tourists left when August was over. Plus, on a stormy day like this maybe the ones still around decide to stay at their hotels? It does sounds like a big storm, after all.

Or maybe he could just stay here and play the piano. He spent a lot of money to bring his upright Steinway 1098 all the way from London to Florence, but he couldn't imagine living without a piano at home. Sure he could have bought a cheaper one once here but the Steinway is his most precious object. He saved money for ages, working a part-time job in a clothes store until he was able to buy it, and he didn't want to leave it alone in his small apartment in grey London.

Shaking off the ash of his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, he decides to not be lazy and make the best of such a fresh day after so many melting ones.

Putting out the cigarette, he finally gets up from bed, grabs some clean clothes and goes to take a shower. He really likes his new bathroom, all black and white tiles, immense mirrors and straight lines. The steel pieces pulsate with his magnetism, and it feels like a symphony is being played on his skin.

Actually he really likes his new apartment. It's not big per se, but it has a loft zone upstairs, open to the living room and kitchen below, where he has the perfect space for his piano. It's a pretty modern place, open concept kitchen with everything he needs, even a sleek oven he’s not sure he’ll ever use (not because he’s a bad cook, mind you, but he’s normally too busy to have the time to properly work on an elaborated meal). Only the bedroom and the bathroom are behind doors down a small hall, where the entrance door is located too.

Out of the shower, drying his short hair with a towel, putting on his favorite washed-denim biker jeans and a white fitting t-shirt with a print saying 'treble maker' which he finds hilarious, he walks to the kitchen turning on the TV, toaster and the Nespresso machine using his mutation.

Fifteen minutes later he's at his front door, coffee and bitter orange jam toasts already sitting in his stomach, grabs his keys, his iPhone, his wallet, sunglasses and his small black umbrella, and puts everything inside the satchel bag. Black biker boots on, perfect for the rain. Everything ready. As soon as he steps into the street he notices the rain has stopped but it’s still chilly and cloudy. Exactly his kind of day. Perfect.

He has decided even before leaving that he wants to start his museum tour by the Uffizi gallery, since he's heard it's the most important one in Florence. He's not really an art connoisseur, but he has read there are works by Botticelli and Caravaggio in there, and at least he can recognize those two names and some of their most famous works.

He walks by the Arno side and crosses what he's beginning to accept as one of his top favorite places of the city, the Ponte Vecchio. Here it’s pretty noticeable, the decrease in tourists. Then, continuing up by the river side, he walks until the river facade of the Uffizi building, passing under its archway and into the street right in the heart of the two wings of the museum. Erik congratulates himself on choosing today to come since there's barely anyone around. He hears music, a lonely guitar playing in the distance. The sound is clear and beautiful, echoing on the high walls of the museum, and he can't stop his feet from walking towards the origin of the melody.

At the corner where the Piazzale degli Uffizi joins the Piazza della Signoria there's a man sitting down on a folding chair with an electric acoustic guitar plugged into a small portable amplifier. Currently playing what he recognizes as [Rota’s a Time for us](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/8wc7r4zp02/06_Rota-_Romeo_and_Juliet.mp3), and Erik is quite astounded by the technique of that man. There are some people sitting around the guitar player, on the stairs behind him right under the Loggia dei Lanzi or at the Uffizi steps in front. Erik moves there since there's less people, and sits down, wanting to enjoy the music for a while.

Rays of sun break out from between some dark clouds, the air is fresh and clean, the music echoes in the walls, acoustics magnified as if played inside a cathedral. Erik looks up towards the Vecchio palace to his right and takes a deep breath. There's no other sound but the guitar melody and the breeze. He finds himself speechless again by the magnificence of the city, by the beauty of this moment, by the delicate adagio enveloping him.

Someone chuckles softly next to him. Turning his face he finds the attractive telepath sitting there, right next to him. When did this happen? He wasn't there when Erik arrived, was he? And he didn’t notice anyone moving next to him. The other guy isn't looking at him but at the man playing the guitar, and, Erik notices, to the sketchbook resting on his knees, open to a page where he is sketching the guitarist and the background with fast but short movements of his hand.

“My friend, you should seriously check on your Stendhal syndrome” still not looking at Erik but the smile never leaving his lips, the telepath keeps on sketching. Erik has a hard time moving his eyes away from that profile but finally looks down into the sketch and marvels. The telepath is drawing with charcoal a beautiful sketch of dark shadows and white lights, the guitar player the main subject of the composition.  
“Wow” he answers smartly. The telepath chuckles again. “That's pretty good” Erik points to the sketch and sees the telepath's smile changing into something smaller, something like shy?  
“Thank you. I come here often to draw him, he’s always around. It's fantastic to practice speed painting and anatomy” Erik frowns. He doesn't understand much about painting terms. “And you're still around, mister metallokinetic? Long holidays”  
“No, I live here” Erik answers.  
“You do?” The telepath turns towards him and that's it. That's all Erik can see. The bluest eyes he's ever seen are fixed on him, bright and clear, pure cobalt. “That's awesome!” Now to the bluest eyes joins the brightest smile, both fixed on him and Erik knows he is suffering that beauty syndrome this time.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles2s.jpg.html)

“Is it?” smart Erik. Really smart.  
“Yes it is. The mutant community in Florence is painfully small, so it's always brilliant to meet a new one of us. Hey, want to have a coffee? I'm done with this and here we're bothering the people who are trying to listen to the music” The telepath talks animatedly and with a strong British, Londoner accent he didn't really pinpoint before.  
“Ah... I was going to visit the museum?” Erik points towards the Uffizi. He doesn't know why he told it, of course he would like to have a coffee and chat with the blue eyed Apollo in front of him! Said Apollo raises an amused eyebrow at his answer.  
“Today is Monday”  
“... yes?”  
“The gallery is closed on Mondays” the telepath smiles. Erik groans in self pity.  
“I normally plan things better, like checking opening times on internet, I swear” the telepath laughs softly, closes his sketchbook, puts the charcoal inside a fabric pencil case, and throws everything inside the same canvas bag he was carrying the other day.  
“Coffee then?” He asks while cleaning his hands on a paper tissue. Erik looks into those eyes and feels as if he should say no, after all, he's asocial and he knows nothing about this man and “Name is Charles, Charles Xavier” and he really has the most beautiful face Erik has ever seen.  
“Erik Lehnsherr” he shakes Charles offered hand and, at Charles' nod towards the Signoria square, he nods. They both stand up and walk away from the guitarist and into the noisy piazza.

Charles guides him towards a cafe right across the palace, but before they can get inside the piercing and loud chorus of the The Smith’s ‘There is a light that never goes out’ starts playing. Charles lifts his bag and takes out his quite big and flat phone, raising a finger towards Erik as if asking him to wait. Erik nods. Charles turns away and answers the call.

It only takes a second of not being under those soulful eyes to wonder. What is he doing, really? He doesn't function like this, suddenly following people like this. What is it about Charles (and isn’t it good to have a name now? _Charles_ ) that makes him want to know more about the other? It has never happened before, and it leaves something kind of uncomfortable under Erik's skin. As if something is out of place, out of the grand scheme of things.

“I'm so sorry, Erik” Charles is back in front of him, ridiculously huge phone in his hand “I have to go, there's an emergency”  
“Any problem?”  
“Nothing serious, but my presence is demanded. I'm really so sorry, we finally meet properly and...”  
“It's okay, really, I understand” he doesn't, but he's telling himself that yes, this is a sign, he doesn't do coffees with strangers, he doesn't do chats. He doesn't do _friends_. Charles is looking at him as if he had run over Erik's puppy with a car. And yes, that's the best description Erik finds for the disappointed look in those expressive eyes.  
“Hey, give me your phone number? Let's not wait to meet coincidentally next time” he smiles again. Erik nods and tells the other his number before he can think better of it. “How do you spell Lehnsherr? Where's that name from, actually? I notice your accent but...”  
“Germany. Here, I'll write it for you, faster than spelling it” Charles gives him his phone, smiling, and Erik writes his surname and changes the C for a K at the end of his name while he hears Charles saying 'German, huh?'. When he looks up he notices Charles' eyes are fixed on his fingers. He feels strangely self-conscious. “Done”  
“Thank you! Let me...” Charles presses a couple of times on the screen of his phone and Erik’s phone rings his basic default ring. “And there you have mine! Okay I have to run so, I'll call you or something!”  
“Sure” and before he can add anything else Charles is turning on his feet and running away.

Erik follows him with his gaze. Charles turns once, smiles and waves just like the last time, and keeps running until he disappears into one of the narrow streets next to the Gucci museum.

Seriously. What the hell just happened? This was completely out of character for him. He grabs a cigarette from his satchel bag, lights it, and decides to just wander around until he gets hungry enough to eat. Maybe even go back and play the piano. Yes. Maybe he should do just that, his fingers are suddenly pretty itchy.

He starts walking back towards the Ponte Vecchio, back towards his place, his mind full of bright smiles and red lips and brown hair and freckles. Goddamn freckles. And blue, an ocean of blue, a sky of blue.

And he has a name now. Charles. Charles and his voice and his eyes and his lips and his hands. Erik shakes his head. _Stop it Lehnsherr this isn't like you._

And yet, he finds himself walking in a hurried pace, dying to touch his piano, dying to play the music that's suddenly invading his head.

* * *

He's reading Louis-Ferdinand Celine’s Journey to the End of the Night, lying on his couch, when his iPhone beeps and vibrates next to him on the coffee table. He grabs it absentmindedly and sees it's a whatsapp message. Probably his mother, he thinks, but no, the name his phone is displaying once he opens the whatsapp app is 'Charles'.

Sitting up in a blink he reads the message.

'Hey Erik! Remember me? The telepath who invited you to a coffee the other day and then disappeared. I feel terrible about it so'

The message ends there and Erik is starting to frown but the phone vibrates in his hand and another message enters:

'a couple of mates and myself are meeting tonight for some drinks, want to come? We're all mutants and I would love for you to join us?'

This is exactly the kind of thing Erik avoids normally. Social meetings, drinks? No thanks. But this is Charles, and he would lie if he said he hasn't been looking at his phone these past days, waiting for a call. This is Charles, the guy who in two casual meetings that were less than ten minutes both has made Erik interested like no one has done before. This is Charles and his melodic voice, his smile and his breathtaking eyes. He would lie if he said he doesn’t want more.

‘That would be nice, yes' is what he types and presses send before he can change his mind. It's his chance to know the telepath and know if he is as interesting as Erik's mind seems to believe, and if he’s not then good, close that door and move on without regrets. He did decide his life would be all about not having regrets. Plus, meeting fellow mutants is always interesting. There are very few anywhere and Erik prefers to move in their circles if he has to move inside a circle at all.

‘Fantastic!! Here, I'll send you the address. We're meeting at ten’

Erik is still not used to the late hours everything is done here in Italy, but he sends his okay and saves the address to check up later at Google maps.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. He tries to continue reading but he can't concentrate on the words. He moves towards the piano upstairs at the loft, he can always count on playing something to let his mind free of other thoughts. He doesn't even think on what to play, just sits in front of the piano and lets his fingers decide. He stops when he finds he's been playing [Scarlatti's Sonata in D minor](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/tpuitha0wn/Domenico_Scarlatti_Cembalosonate_L366_in_d-Moll_Dubravka_Tomi_-_Piano_.mp3) at an even faster tempo than the song was written. He’s way more nervous than he thought, then.

For dinner he just walks downstairs and gets a vegetables pizza to go from the restaurant across the street and eats it at his living room while watching the BBC on television. It's nice to be able to watch channels from the whole world; he was pleasantly surprised to even receive German channels like ZDF and Arte.

Time to get ready. Walking to his bedroom, he opens his wide closet’s doors and tries not to think much on what to wear. It's just a couple of drinks with random people he won’t probably care about after tonight. And well, Charles, sure. He shakes his head, no, no, he forbids himself to think too much on what to wear, it's stupid, it's childish. He decides to wear a white short sleeves military-cut shirt, indigo skinny jeans and a pair of grey plimsolls. Casual, comfortable. Careless.

The place is called Mayday, and it is at the Dante Alighieri street, right at the centre of the old city between the Signoria square and the Duomo. Erik walks there but thinks it would be a good idea to invest in some kind of transport. A motorbike, for example. No cars in Florence, the streets are way too narrow.

He makes it there five minutes before the arranged meeting time, so he lights a cigarette and smokes it calmly outside the place. It looks cozy, nice lighting and, judging by the soft noises coming out to the street, nice ambient. He's finishing his smoke and wondering if he should wait outside or go in to see if Charles is already there when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns to find said telepath smiling in front of him.

“Hey, glad you made it” Charles greets, and Erik nods, too mesmerized to do anything beyond that.

Until now he's seen Charles sitting around, dressed in t-shirts and comfortable pants, messy hair in the wind and hands full of charcoal. Now Charles is a sight for sore eyes. His hair is combed, falling in all the right places, bangs softly touching the sides of his eyes. He is wearing a black cotton polo shirt with the collar in grey, buttons undone, extremely fitted white jeans that display what seem like strong muscled thighs, and black ankle buckle boots.

And oh god Erik didn't really notice or didn’t care to notice before but Charles is a few centimeters shorter than him, and there's something _right_ in seeing Charles looking up at him. He didn’t even know he liked that, and he hopes Charles’ telepathy is not catching any of those thoughts.

“Have you been waiting for long? I don't think I'm really late, am I?” Charles is checking his wrist watch, which looks kind of expensive. Erik shakes his head, trying to focus on important things, not suddenly discovered size kinks.  
“No, you're not late. I just arrived early” Charles smiles up at Erik again. Damn those eyes, really.  
“Brilliant. Shall we then?” he motions towards the door and Erik nods, letting the shorter man walk before him, who holds the door for Erik too, that same soft smile never leaving his lips.

Charles nods towards the bartender who answers with a loud _‘Ciao, England’s Principe azzurro’_ that makes Charles laugh, clear sign that they know each other, he could even be a regular, and then moves towards the back room of the bar. Erik wasn't wrong, the place has a nice atmosphere. Nice music, not too loud but enough to be heard over most conversations. An indie rock piece he can’t recognize is playing right now. A lot of people sitting everywhere, chatting and laughing and drinking weird colourful drinks. There are reproductions of paintings all over the walls, bigger or smaller, abstract or old prints, from a Van Gogh to a Mucha to a Pollock. It feels like a very artistic oriented place, and seems obvious why Charles, always found sketching all over the city, would choose this place for drinks. They reach the back room, a smaller place with low and warm colourful lights, a billiards table, and lots of different couches and armchairs from all the possible styles. Erik feels quite comfortable in there.

A couple of people sitting at one corner raise their glasses and greet Charles with loud heys and claps. Charles laughs and walks towards them, so Erik supposes these are the mentioned other mutant friends. One is a long haired brunette girl who is even shorter than Charles and doesn't look a day older than eighteen. The other is a man with reddish hair and even reddish eyes, and Erik supposes he’s one of those gifted with a rare physical mutation.

Charles introduces them as Katherine (Kitty, she insists) Pryde and Remy Lebeau. Kitty is an American graphic designer who has been studying art prints in the academy of Belle Arti for two years now; Remy is a nomad soul travelling the world who met Charles back in London and currently is a bartender, who met Kitty through an ad hanging at his bar’s door asking for a mutant flat mate.

“And this is Erik Lehnsherr, he is a metallokinetic!” Charles makes a floriture with his hand towards Erik, excited, and Erik wonders if he even knows what exactly a metallokinetic can do since he never explained.  
“What does a metallokinetic do?” Remy asks. Erik grins.  
“I can manipulate all kinds of metals and magnetic force fields, in small measure” Remy whistles lowly, Kitty looks up and down at him, impressed, and Charles... Charles looks as if someone just gave him something he wanted his whole life.  
“That is fascinating” he whispers, and now Erik knows for sure Charles didn't really know what metallokinetic exactly meant “Remy here can control kinetic energy, and Kitty is intangible. She can walk through walls, it's bloody amazing” Kitty blushes and punches Charles telling him to shut up.  
“And you said you’re a telepath, right?” Erik asks.  
“Ah yes yes, a super strong telepath” he says proudly, lifting his chin “but don't worry, I have a strong moral code and I never look into people's minds without their permission” he smiles more softly now, as if wanting to reassure Erik, who smiles at the joke. He doesn’t doubt Charles could read some of his thoughts but… it’s well known even the most powerful of mutants aren’t really a menace, that’s why they can live freely between humans. He’s pretty sure things would be different if they were really powerful. They already find rejection and xenophobia being as they are, so go figure.  
“I don’t mind, mutants shouldn’t have to suppress their powers” and seems that was the right thing to tell, since Charles' smile evolves to the megawatt one he was sporting before.

They spend hours talking about everything and nothing, the four of them, until somehow it centres on the both of them only. Erik learns a lot of things about Charles. The more beer and cocktails that keep coming, the more easily Charles talks. Even he is feeling more open and chatty.

He learns that Charles is twenty-six, so three years younger than him. Charles has an impressive Master of Fine Arts title at the Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art in Oxford, and now he's just wandering around the art capitals of the world, freelance, to perfect his technique. Erik deduces he probably has a lot of money, if he can afford this travel and Oxford, plus that would explain that delightfully posh accent he owns. Charles has the brain of a scientist, smart to the point of being overwhelming; almost studied Biogenetics, and is able to discuss broadly and knowingly about any topic, being politics, science, economics, religion, society, but also Project Runway and Downton Abbey and any kind of celebrity gossip. When asked why he decided to study arts instead of pursuing said Biogenetics career, he shrugs and answers that he wanted to follow his dreams. Erik feels warmth spread inside his chest, understanding that statement perfectly.

And he also learns what he classifies as the most important piece of information: Charles is currently single and openly homosexual.

“And what about you?” Charles asks. Some way or another they both have ended sharing an armchair at a different corner, Charles sitting on the arm and looking down at Erik; Kitty and Remy loudly playing billiards with other people. Erik is around his fourth or fifth beer (it's artisan and deliciously bitter) and has lost the count of how many Melon punches Charles has had. They are both pleasantly tipsy.  
“What about me?” he smirks and takes note of how Charles looks down into his mouth. Interesting.  
“Single? Hetero? Gay, in the closet? Bisexual? Asexual? Somethingsexual??” Charles chuckles while sipping his green drink. He’s flushed and his gaze is soft. Probably beyond pleasantly tipsy, then.  
“Guess” Erik leans back on the couch, one arm resting at the back of it, hand pretty close to Charles’ body, he moves the other hand holding his beer close to his mouth and takes a sip, eyes never leaving Charles who raises an eyebrow and smiles crookedly.  
“Single… and gay?”  
“Correct” Charles eyes brighten.  
“Unfathomable. I mean, look at you. How can that be?” Erik snorts.  
“Mister Xavier, was that a compliment?”  
“Absolutely” Charles smiles and leans forward, a leg up on the armchair, pretty close to Erik’s body.  
“Be careful, people might think you're flirting with me” there's a part of Erik’s brain that's ringing the alarms and yelling at him to stop, but he's too tipsy and comfortable next to Charles to care.  
“Oh dear” Charles looks around, eyes wide, and then laughs softly “But tell me...” he leans even closer to Erik and whispers right next to his face “would my flirting be appreciated?” Erik looks directly at Charles’ mesmerizing eyes. He’s burning.  
“Absolutely” Erik takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Charles'. The other is biting his lower lip, failing to stop a grin.  
“Brilliant” Charles is moving even closer, eyes fixed on Erik's mouth, when Remy and Kitty appear, loud and cheerful and bouncy.  
“Let's go to the river!!” Kitty exclaims, arms in the air. She's probably drunk. Charles groans and Erik sips the last of his beer, playing nonchalant but feeling extremely disappointed at being interrupted. Was Charles leaning for a kiss?  
“The river?” asks Charles.  
“Yes, I'm sure there's some street band playing music like always and I wanna dance! Let's go!!” Kitty grabs Charles and Erik by their arms and pulls them upwards and away from the armchair.

They laugh and pay for their drinks and stumble out of the bar. It's almost two in the morning but there are still a lot of people out in the street, tourists and drunkards and stylish party-goers. It’s chilly but not cold and there’s no wind and no clouds, stars shining and visible. A perfect end of summer night.

Kitty and Remy walk in front, dancing and singing to one of the last songs that was playing inside the bar before they got out. Charles is smiling at them, walking practically glued to Erik's side. Erik grabs the lighter and a cigarette from his pant’s back pocket and lights it. Charles looks up at him.

“You shouldn't smoke, it makes you look hotter. It’s unfair” Erik's breath goes the other way and he coughs and laughs. “It’s true!!” Charles exclaims while laughing too.  
“Then I'll have to keep smoking every time you're around” Erik looks down at Charles and winks, noticing the shorter man going slightly pink on the cheeks. Flirting with Charles is becoming one of his favourite things to do, it seems.  
“Preposterous” and he grabs the cigarette from Erik's hand and takes a drag himself. Erik is perfectly sure he's never seen anything sexier than that.

Walking towards the Ponte Vecchio, sharing the cigarette, loud music can be heard when they approach the bridge, and Kitty turns with the biggest of smiles, yelling 'told you' and running the rest of the way pulling Remy after her. Charles laughs and looks up at him with a wicked grin.

“Sorry, they're bonkers” he nods his head on the direction the other two ran away.  
“You're all crazy. But it's a good crazy, so it’s perfectly fine” Charles smiles proudly.

Sure enough, there's a street band playing at the middle, wider part of the bridge, and there's a crowd of people around them, some sitting, some standing, some filming the musicians, some singing and dancing. Kitty and Remy are at the back, next to the stone railing of the bridge, dancing in circles, hooking and intertwining their arms. They motion for them to join, but Erik shakes his head. He's already doing too many out of the scheme things, dancing like that would be a step too far out of character. Charles pouts and tries to convince him, but Erik smiles, shakes his head again and tells the other to go, he'll wait here. Charles thinks about it for a couple of seconds then smiles, nods, and joins the other two. Erik watches.

Exactly then and there, he decides to stop minding so much. Sure, he's not a person who normally does this, going out with people he doesn't know, having drinks, having a laugh. But who says he can't do it? Who wrote that it was forbidden for him to enjoy these things when in the right company? And Charles is beyond interesting as a person; he's funny, extroverted, intelligent, great company and if he’s getting things right, a massive, adorable dork. Plus, seems he is as interested in Erik as Erik is in him. So why does he have to judge everything that's happening, why should he stop himself from enjoying this, closing in himself as always? No, like it or not Charles is awakening something different in him, and, somehow, Erik doesn’t want to stop himself from exploring it anymore. _Live leaving nothing left to regret later._

Loud applause and cheering wakes him from his self-reflective daze, the band finished one song and now starting another. He recognizes this song in just two compasses, the popular classic You are my sunshine. He looks at the band players and analyzes their techniques, an occupational hazard of his musician persona. The guys are pretty good. A trumpet player, a saxophonist, a cello player and a guitar one. There's even a guy with a portable keyboard at the back.

The crowd is clapping, dancing and singing, the song played with a swing arrangement making everybody move with the rhythm. He feels hands on his shoulders from behind, and turning he finds Charles smiling brightly, moving one shoulder up and the other down in a kind of silly dance and singing loudly and mostly out of tune. It's extremely adorable.

“Dance with me, Erik!!” and damn it all to hell, he's going to do just that.

His hands on Charles' waist, he starts following the tipsy, clumsy rhythm Charles is dictating, swaying left and right. Charles laughs louder and louder, and continues trying to sing, his face flushed and his smile warmer than the Tuscan sun. Erik can't avoid it, he laughs too, this is actually really fun. He doesn't know if it's the alcohol or the song or Charles or everything together, but he laughs like he doesn't think he's laughed in years.

The song ends and Charles complains in dismay at the fun being cut short. The band is saying goodbye and asking for money and support and whatnot, but Erik only has eyes for Charles. His hands are still around the other's waist, and Charles hands are still resting on his shoulders, and he is really liking this position. Charles looks back up at him, that gorgeous smile back on his red lips.

“You know, I really never look into other's minds, but you are projecting your comfort at our current position pretty loudly”  
“That's cheating” Erik mumbles, but denies himself a reaction like getting ashamed or blushing. Charles grins knowingly, the cheeky bastard.  
“Hey, lovebirds” Remy calls “I'm going to take Kitty home, she's blasted” and sure enough when Erik looks towards them Kitty is but a mess resting at Remy's side, standing solely by Remy’s support and arm around her waist “You coming, Charles?” Charles looks at them, then up at Erik, then bites his lip, and Erik knows, he knows how this could continue. He could ask Charles to stay, to go home with him. The signals have been clear and Charles is interested and damn it if he isn't. But is this what he really wants? He is sure if he takes Charles home tonight there are a lot of possibilities of it ending just like that. Not learning more about Charles, not enjoying more of his company and intelligent and funny talks. Just sex.

Just a one night stand. Like many others he’s had before.

No, that's not what he wants, not this time. Charles is special, Charles makes him feel things he thought he didn’t even have anymore. He's not going to risk it for a quickie.

“Go with them” it's what he says. Charles looks at him with a mix of not understanding and hurt. Erik puts a hand on Charles' cheek and caresses the lovely freckles with his thumb, his heart beating fast, faster. “You have my phone and I have yours. Let's not hurry this?” Charles seems to understand, leaning into Erik’s touch and nods. “I feel like I don't want to rush this”  
“Yeah. Yeah me too” Charles whispers, a hand now resting over Erik's, eyes closed “you'll call me soon, right?”  
“Is tomorrow soon enough?” Erik asks and marvels in Charles’ chuckles.  
“Tomorrow is perfect” Erik nods and feels how Charles is standing on tiptoes, and then feels Charles' warm lips right on the corner of his own “goodnight, Erik”  
“Goodnight, Charles”

A smile, then loss of the body warmth of the telepath. A wave, and then those eyes bluer than the sky are turning away from him, following the other two mutants who are already walking a few steps ahead, waving bye at Erik. He follows them with his gaze until they turn right at the end of the bridge and disappear under arches and walls. He turns then and walks to the other river side, destination home.

He smokes a cigarette on the way, remembering how the last one was shared with Charles, and that makes him smile. Look at him, the asocial, stoic and heartless Lehnsherr, suddenly smiling to himself remembering someone he's barely just met. His grin grows fuller. So what if he's just met Charles. The connection can't be denied.

He can't wait until tomorrow.

♯2

Consciousness comes slowly to him, but he decides to roll over and try to sleep for a while longer. As soon as he moves, though, his head painfully pounds. Groaning, he moves his hand searchingly over the bedside table until he grabs his phone, half opening one eye to check the time at the phone screen. 13.05 pm. He sighs and decides to get up and take some painkiller for what by now is a mere mild headache, but he is sure will grow to be a massive one if he doesn't stop it now. ‘Perks’ of being a telepath, his headaches always, always develop into something murdering.

“How much did you really drink, Xavier?” he asks himself as he rubs one eye, walking out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. He could bet he wasn't that drunk last night, but clearly that’s a mistake since he’s still dressed in last night’s polo and underwear, and can feel the hangover already.

Turning the coffee maker on, he puts a capsule in, presses the button and walks back to the bathroom while waiting for his espresso to be ready. Morning routine done, face and mouth washed and eyes finally fully open, he grabs his coffee back at the kitchen, a muffin that's lying around on the counter from the last bag he bought at the _panificio_ next to his building and walks out to the balcony. He loves to have breakfast outside, with the impressive views of the Duomo at the end of the street.

And then it comes to him, as soon as he takes the first sip of coffee, before even sitting down at the outside table. Did he dance with Erik last night? “Oh god” he knocks his forehead against the balcony’s door frame. Sure he was way more drunk than he thought! Flirting is perfectly okay, but dancing like a drunk grandpa? Oh god, the shame. He then sits down and drinks his coffee and eats the muffin while trying to swallow the embarrassment he's feeling. Even though he's also wondering why, if he hit on Erik the way he did and Erik flirted back (and he does remember Erik flirting back, though he can't be sure if it was thanks to the one too many beers the German had), why did he wake himself alone in bed?

Not like he likes to show off but normally he does bring them home. None has resisted him. Until now, it seems.

But wait wait Erik did say he would call him? Did he say something about not hurrying? Charles' heart beats faster for a second, and he finds himself smiling stupidly. Seems Erik is a perfect gentleman, old-school cavalier. Charles would normally laugh at that, he isn't interested in anything beyond a good shag and moving on, but thinking about Erik wanting to go slowly with him somehow rings all the right bells.

Biting his lip to stop the idiotic smile growing on his face, he leaves the empty coffee cup on the kitchen counter and moves into the shower, thinking on what to do today, and how to proceed with (and fantasize about) Erik.

He doesn't have to think much about it since his Galaxy note is ringing as soon as he steps out of the shower. Throwing a towel around his waist he runs to his bedroom right on time to answer it without even checking the caller.

“Hello?”  
“First of all and just to be clear, should I continue talking or was yesterday a product of too much alcohol and better to just shut up and continue feeling like an idiot?” Erik's voice sounds more breathy than normal and he's talking way too fast and Charles can't avoid laughing, a weight lifting from his chest.  
“Please, continue talking or I will be the one feeling like an idiot”  
“Good” he hears Erik exhale “Hello” and the German’s voice is back to that low, seductive tone that makes Charles’ skin prickle.  
“Good morning” he feels his smile growing. It does make him feel like an idiot. It doesn't make him stop smiling, though.  
“Were you still sleeping?”  
“No, but I didn't wake up long ago. Long night, hangover, you know how these things go” oh lord, he sounds like an idiot now too. What is he, fourteen again? Where has all his suave flirting technique gone?  
“I do know” there are a couple of silent seconds, and just as Charles decides to break what is becoming an awkward silence he hears Erik taking a breath “thing is, I said I would call and you said you studied arts and I wanted to visit museums and today is not Monday so it's open, right?”  
“So you want me to go with you?” yes, at the rhythm his heart is beating he is sure he's fourteen again “I can tell you more about each piece than any other museum guide” he hears Erik chuckle. God that's sexy.  
“Only reason why I thought of calling you, to take advantage of your knowledge in art for free”  
“Hey!” even using sarcasm he sounds sexy. So not fair.  
“So...?”  
“Meet you at four at the entrance, don't be late”  
“I wouldn't dream of it. See you there” and Erik hangs up before he can even say okay or bye or anything, but somehow that seems extremely Erik and it doesn't matter at all.

The smile doesn't leave his face for a long while.

* * *

The visit to the Uffizi ends up being even better than he could have pictured. Erik was already there when he arrived, waiting for him, deliciously dressed in a fitted black v-neck shirt, skinny white trousers, a couple of military-like black lace up boots and glorious aviator designer shades. To say he looked like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine was falling short. And he’s not exaggerating, people passing by turned their heads to check on the tall dapper figure that Erik cut.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles3s-1.jpg.html)

At first he acted kind of cold and awkward, and sometimes Charles thought he caught on Erik’s thoughts and feelings, asking himself what exactly he was doing there, nervous about it. But with time the taller man seemed to relax little by little and his smiles became more genuine and his eyes looked less like they were searching for all the possible escape routes, and more into Charles' own eyes.

He hasn't used his telepathy on the other at all besides the random thoughts he catches, Erik looking enough into a fight or fly mood; probably if Charles had made any comment on his thoughts or made whatever to make Erik feel him meddling inside his head he would have found that escape and run away. Charles has never had to be so careful with anyone, but he’s also never wanted to be that careful before. It’s like he wants to do his best to keep Erik comfortable, by his side.

All in all, in the end, it's been delightful. Like he already suspected the night before, Erik is a really intelligent man, and though plastic arts isn't his forte he did know the most famous works in the museum and was genuinely interested in the rest of the information Charles sort of vomited on him. Not his fault, he really gets into history of art.

And he does love the Uffizi gallery, never getting tired of visiting it. He could spend there all of his days, lost in its never-ending corridors and side rooms. His fingers have been demanding for him to sit down and just draw some of the awesome works around him. But it’s not the right time, he's been telling himself. Now is all about showing Erik his world, and kind of showing himself off too. It’s not vanity, not really, but he's never lied to himself with false modesty, he's not going to start now.

After the museum visit was over around two hours later, once he felt Erik was comfortable around him and probably wouldn’t mind spending more time together, he asked again for that coffee offered some days ago. They walked away from the hustle of the Signoria square and found a nice small coffee shop close to the Piazza Santa Croce. 

Sitting there with his cappuccino, he's re-learning things that he's sure they talked about last night but somehow aren't that clear in his mind, like how Erik just moved here almost a month ago, how he is a classical piano player aiming to be professional (and imagining those long, bony fingers moving over the piano keys is _delightful_ ), how he also likes to try his hand at composition, how he's here because everyone thought his performance was cold and he needed more ‘heart’ and 'colour' in his music. Charles thinks once he warms to the company, the German doesn't feel cold at all, quite the contrary, and doesn't understand what Erik's mentors meant.

“You have to play the piano for me sometime” he says before he can think better of it, and then tries to correct it. Too familiar too soon? “I mean, if it's not a bother for you or...”  
“I don't mind. It would be nice” Erik’s smiles are soft and cautious, not at all like last night when they were wide and toothy, but there they are and somehow Charles feels privileged to see them, as if they weren’t shown around easily or to anybody.

It's weird, really. This is not his modus operandi. Charles is a flirt and loves to flirt openly and isn't ashamed of saying it and doing it. He's smart, he's good looking if he has to judge by what others say or think, and he’s funny. He’s economically more than stable, bordering on ‘filthy rich’. He may also have a bit of an ego, but nothing that would make him believe he really is way better than anyone else. He knows he's a good catch, he just isn’t big headed enough to think he’s the best catch anyone could get.

Thing is, normally when he sees someone as hot as Erik is, in this Aryan-top-model / rock star way Erik is, he would be all over him. Throw himself on the other without mercy and climb him like a tree. He would be clear in his intentions and attack, 'I want you in my pants now' kind of attack. And it's not like he doesn't want Erik in his pants, lord, that would be heresy. If Erik as much as mentioned wanting Charles, he would follow him without a second thought. But it's like... there's something here between them, something rare. There's something different about Erik. It's as if he's witnessing an extraordinary gift no one else has been blessed with, as if Erik is sharing a secret no one else has known before, and this wonder is happening right in front of Charles eyes and for his eyes only.

Charles is not going to rush it all in and miss this rare thing he feels in his gut. It's weird and different and not how he normally does things, yes, but. It feels right. It feels special. It feels like he has to cherish this.

They say their goodbyes before dinner time, Charles having earlier plans with other friends that he feels bad about cancelling and Erik not feeling like joining them even when Charles offered. He's okay with this. It actually feels kind of good to keep Erik and his secret smiles only for himself. And smiling they are now to each other, like silly teens, while they promise on calling or texting and to meet again soon. Then Erik turns and walks away, and Charles forces himself to do the same towards his place, to get ready for that untimely dinner.

Indeed he does feel like a fourteen year old teen crushing hard, and the worst is, it feels great.

* * *

They can't meet again for a few days, Charles because he feels a little like an idiot for wanting to ask everyday so he forces himself to stop, and Erik... who knows. Erik is still pretty mysterious (and that is still _extremely_ attractive, he’s not going to lie). Then one day he receives a whatsapp message from the German, telling him he's starting his piano classes next day and he'll probably be pretty busy for the next week.

Charles answers it's okay and good luck, even if he doesn't feel that okay and has to mentally stop himself from writing 'then let's meet right now come to my home I beg of you'.

It's three days later when he's coming down from painting Florence panoramic sights in watercolours from the Piazzale Michelangelo, and thinking how he needs to bring Erik up there to watch the sunset together, when a voice stops him before putting his key inside the front door of his apartment building.

“Charles?” and _oh_ he already recognizes Erik's voice and strong accent. Should it be kind of scary? Because it isn’t. He turns and there he is, white t-shirt and distressed jeans and again those combat boots and damn why does he always look like coming out of a photo session? It's unfair.  
“Erik! What brings you around here?” Erik is walking towards him, a dark brown leather messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, strap crossed over his chest.  
“I study piano over there” Charles turns towards where Erik’s finger is pointing and has to stop himself from gasping. Erik's piano classes are in the conservatoire Luigi Cherubini that, coincidentally, is right on the same street where he is living. _Destiny, man_. He smiles.  
“I live right here, so we're kind of neighbours?” Erik looks up at the building and then back at Charles, smiling one of those secret small smiles that Charles has missed more than he wants to admit.  
“I suppose we are for the few hours I'm there playing, yes” he shrugs and even that looks top-model-y of him. So, so unfair. Erik looks around and then back at Charles “Well, so I suppose I'll see you...” and Charles knows he's trying to leave and he feels Erik's awkwardness in his mind and he doesn't want that.  
“Why don't we have dinner together?” it's what he blurts “I know a place around where they make the best pizza, it's really close, no need to walk much in case you're tired?” he smiles up at Erik who looks a little lost, or torn, or unsure “I even have more arguments to make you see this is a great idea and you shouldn't miss this chance to have an amazing pizza with me” he lifts one eyebrow comically and there it is, the smile he was looking for.  
“Okay, sure, I wasn't really looking forward to cook dinner now”  
“... you cook?” can he be more perfect, really? Charles needs to find the hamartia of this Adonis soon, or he might lose his mind.  
“... you don't?” Charles doesn't know Erik that well yet but he would bet he is giving him a smug stare right now. Bastard.  
“We'll save this conversation for the future, when we're extremely close friends and I can cajole you into cooking for me” and Erik looks down at that and mumbles 'sure' but his mind is buzzing with something close to happiness and Charles feels like he just won something big right then.

Charles goes up to his flat one second and leaves his painting tools, runs a brush over his unruly hair, sprays on cologne and then runs back down to where Erik is waiting, looking down the street towards the cathedral and smoking a cigarette, and he has to stop himself and look. Just look. And then catch on his breathing.

“Shall we?” Erik turns, nods, and Charles leads the way.

The pizza is even better than he remembers. Thin and crispy and overflowing with millions of ingredients and cheese. He's eaten there three or four times already and he's never been disappointed. Erik seems to be enjoying his pizza, too. He got a spicy pepperoni one, and somehow even that seems sexy to Charles. Hot and spicy man. The nerve of that bastard.

The dinner goes nicely and they catch up on what they’ve been doing these past days, talking about things like Erik's piano classes and his new Italian mentor and the weather and places he must visit. It's when they are having a couple of espressos that Erik's sea-green eyes focus and Charles feels as if the mood has radically changed into something serious.

“Charles, I think I want to say something” and that's all it takes for Charles to be back into his fourteen years old frame of mind he's been suffering at intervals since meeting Erik.  
“Sure, go ahead” he tries to play mature, nonchalant. He prays he's not failing as much as he thinks he is.  
“The other night... when we, you know, met your friends” oh dear lord “you know, we sort of talked about... some things” and Erik is looking at his coffee and Charles wants to bite his nails off. What is this? Is this Erik talking about _feels_? Maybe to take another step? In what direction??  
“Yes...” what does one say in this situation? Charles isn't used to _feels_. Erik takes a deep breath.  
“Look, I just don't want you to think that I am someone who normally acts like that. Actually it's pretty out of character for me, to... hit on you the way I did. And I feel like we've been avoiding talking about it? And. Just that. I don't go around flirting with everyone. Actually, I don’t even flirt. Just that.” _Huh?_  
“Ah. Me neither?” it's a white lie, sure, but seems like the right thing to say because Erik looks up at him and he looks so earnest, as if searching for something into Charles' eyes.  
“Good” he answers. And Charles doesn't really understand and his useless telepathy is useless and it isn’t helping right now.  
“... what does this mean?” he chuckles a little out of nerves because Erik has him completely lost. Is it a good thing that he doesn't flirt, is it a bad thing? Does it mean it was nothing, or the contrary?  
“It means....” Erik takes another breath and looks out of the window into the street “It means there's something about you, Xavier, which makes me act in a way I never acted before. And I find myself sort of enjoying it” Erik turns his eyes towards him and Charles' heart explodes. He knows he is smiling like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less about it right now. The warmth spreading all over his limbs the nicest feeling he remembers ever having.  
“Brilliant” he keeps smiling. Erik snorts softly and shakes his head, but Charles sees it, he sees the slight blush colouring the other's cheeks, and feels the same warmth on his limbs spreading in the other's mind.

It's all different from there on. Not like they start flirting back and forth without reserve or anything like that, but more like... they really look into each other's eyes now. There's softness around Erik's features that wasn't really there before, and the corners of his mouth lift easier than they’ve done until now, and it's amazing to witness this change.

It’s dark night when they walk down Ricasoli street in companionable silence, Erik smoking a cigarette, gaze lost again in the illuminated Duomo and the bell tower in front of them, Charles looking at Erik every chance he can. Once they reach Charles' front door they just look at each other, as if they had planned on it, and lean forward as if it is the most natural thing for them.

It's a really soft kiss, barely a touch of lips, but it has Charles' toes curling. It's warm and sweet and the most intimate kiss Charles has ever had, as contradictory as it is, being just that simple touch of lips. Erik pulls away but doesn't really move far back. Charles keeps his eyes closed, lips still tingling. He feels Erik's hand on his cheek, careful as if he was touching a most valuable object, and he opens his eyes to face the most beautiful gray-green eyes he's ever seen. He knew Erik's eyes were beautiful, he noticed before. He just didn't notice how really striking and deep they are. Charles leans into Erik's hand, following that warmth radiating from the other.

“Call you tomorrow” Erik's voice is reverent and low, as if scared of breaking an enchantment.  
“Please” he answers. He smiles. Erik smiles back.

And then he turns and leaves, lighting another cigarette a few meters away, and Charles can't move from where he is standing, can't keep his eyes away from the other.

It's really been the first time he's been treated like this, as if he is something precious that has to be handled with the utmost care. It feels amazing. What is it about Erik, really? Why does it feel as if they have known each other since forever, as if everything is right, natural and logical?

Why did the softest of kisses feel like the most earth-shattering one he's ever had in his life?

Erik turns the corner towards the Piazza del Duomo. He looks back before walking out of view. Charles finds himself waving, and then trying to bite down a grin, and once Erik is out of view, running up to his apartment, throwing himself face down on the couch and laughing like a mad man, feet kicking the couch’s cushions repeatedly.

What is this thing that Erik is doing to him, really?

* * *

For the next couple of days they don't meet again, but Erik keeps his promise and calls. And then the next day Charles is the one calling. If they speak about silly things for way too long, none of them complains. At all.

Charles Skypes with his sister Raven who’s back in London and she tells him right away that he's acting weird, quoting her exact words 'as a teenage schoolgirl with a crush'. Charles doesn't tell her how close she's hit to home.

Because yes, why deny it anymore. Charles has developed a crush the size of the Duomo on Erik. This is not anything close to what he normally feels when he sees a hot guy, as he thought the case when he first saw Erik having a 'seizure' when facing the cathedral's beauty for the first time, no. This is not an 'I want to get in his pants' situation at all. He genuinely wants to know more about Erik. Damn he wants to know everything about him. He wants to know why he is so serious but still smiles softly to Charles, why he always seems to enjoy being alone, how he actually seems to prefer it, and yet calls Charles and talks to him for more than half an hour. He wants to learn what is it that he has that Erik seems to like, and wants to nurture it to keep Erik around.

And he does want to keep Erik around for as long as possible. And it's scary and wonderful at the same time. He is twenty-six years old and this has never happened before in his life. Not even once. Not even close.

On Friday night he gets a whatsapp from Erik telling him he's going to stay at the piano classroom until late at night practicing and sorry because he won't be able to call before Charles falls asleep, surely. Charles remembers Erik is at the conservatoire right there on his street and doesn't even think twice about it before grabbing his phone and his keys and running out and up the street towards the music academy.

There's a lady at the entrance who looks amiable and smiles up at him when he enters, asking him in fast Italian what help can she offer, or at least that's what Charles understands in his basic survival understanding of said language. After almost a year living here, he’s still struggling with it. Shame on him.

 _“Sto cercando un amico... stanza del pianoforte?”_ and he blushes because he knows that sucked, he knows the woman can't point him in the right direction only with that, so he uses his telepathy (trying hard for her not to notice, of course) to help her understand directly in her head what he means and adds the name 'Erik Lehnsherr' to the information. She nods.  
 _“Secondo piano. Fondo del corridoio a destra”_ he reads her surface thoughts to be sure he understood and yes, second floor, end of the hallway to the right. He thanks her and flies up the stairs.

The conservatoire is deserted, most of the classrooms’ lights off, but as soon as he nears the end of the hall on the second floor he can hear the sound of a piano. And the closest he gets to the sound the fastest his heart is beating. Is Erik the one playing that?

Is he actually _that_ good?

[The song is extremely fast paced](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/c4f8ptd8b2/Chopin_fantasy-_impromptu_cis-mol_op_66.mp3) and Charles feels dizzy once he reaches the classroom opened door. But then the melody turns into something slower, softer, and there he is, Erik, in all his glorious profile. He looks almost regal seated at the piano stool, his long and elegant fingers flying over the keys, his eyes concentrated, focused, soulful.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles4s-1.jpg.html)

Charles leans against the door frame and tries to even his breathing. He's no expert in music certainly but he can discern good from bad and Erik is _excellent_. The song raises its tempo again and Erik's fingers fly, his hands moving with dexterity, his expression the one of a world famous maestro. Not a note out of place, not an off-key sound. How Erik's mentors told him his music needed more work, Charles can't understand.

He probably has done some noise, surely trying to breathe normally again, because Erik's eyes turn towards him and his fingers stop moving abruptly.

“Charles? What are you doing here?” his eyes wide, his hands suspended over the keys, and Charles feels himself falling.  
“You are amazing, that sounded amazing” is the only thing he can say because it's true, that was amazing. Erik rests his hands over his legs and turns a little red, a soft smile on his lips.  
“Thank you”  
“Can you play something else?” and he knows he should be telling Erik why he came here, and how he entered, or something. Or say he’s sorry for disturbing his practice. But he can't. He wants to hear more, and there's no one else here, only them, and he wants to hear more, he wants Erik playing only for him, his music for his ears only. Erik smiles wider now, and nods.  
“Sure. Sit anywhere”

Charles moves towards the closest chair he finds next to Erik's place at the piano, his eyes never leaving the other, Erik's eyes never leaving him.

“I was playing Chopin, but I think you would like something else better...” and then he's facing the piano again, and his fingers are dancing over the keys again.

The song he plays now has a [softer tune](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/4c46p6s6pw/Johannes_Brahms_Walzer_As-Dur_Op._39_Nr._15_-_Jrg_Hanselmann_Klavier.mp3), a lighter mood. Simple, but elegant. Erik is back to focus solely on the piano keys, and it's really breathtaking. He can totally imagine the German in a music hall, all the seats filled with people rendered speechless by such talent.

He closes his eyes and wanders inside his mind, thinking he's never felt it so calm, so in peace, his telepathy always a white noise in the back of his head but now it’s silent. No, not really silent, but attuned with the music. There's nothing else in the world right now besides him, Erik and the piano melody. He feels no other minds, he hears no other thoughts. Only the melody and the general warmth of Erik's mind close to him. And it feels so concentrated and so precise and so _in order_ that it's really really wonderful. Charles has never felt a mind quite like that before.

The song is really short and when he opens his eyes again Erik is looking at him, expectant, bright gunmetal eyes under the fluorescent light of the room, the last notes of the melody echoing on the walls, red tinting Erik's cheeks but a sense of prideful achievement radiating from his mind. And Charles feels so attracted to all this, to that music, to that talent, to that pride, he can say nothing and do nothing more than stand and walk the couple of steps separating him from Erik, and kiss him.

It's delicate and soft like the first time, but it moves forward unlike the first time. He's leaning down since he's standing and Erik is still sitting on the stool, so he rests his hands on both of Erik's cheeks and feels Erik's hands grabbing his waist and squeezing, and he opens his mouth and falls, _falls_ when Erik's tongue invades his mouth, shy and slow and then brave and certain.

It's the best kiss anyone has ever given him, and he’s sure his knees are going to give in.

He has to break away pretty soon because his heart is beating so fast he's not able to breathe, but doesn't move away, just rests his forehead on Erik's, and looks into those sea eyes that are looking up at him with wonder, his mind radiating the most wonderful and indescribable feeling Charles has ever felt directed towards himself. It’s addicting.

“If that's how you react to my piano I'm so playing all of Liszt's works for you next” is the first thing Erik says, and Charles laughs because it's wonderful and silly and scary, and kisses Erik again.

He eventually sits next to Erik on the piano stool, and Erik plays more daunting melodies for him, explaining everything about them to Charles: who composed them, what they wanted to express with them, why Erik loves them, and Charles feels humbled at being included in this. Erik is a bigger wonder than he imagined, and he really feels humbled of being one of the people who gets to see this, to share this, to live this.

Since it's Friday night and none of them has to wake up early on Saturday they hit a bar and drink some beers after Erik decides he’s had enough practice, and they joke with each other and play and kiss each other more. Erik’s eyes never leave him and his hand is always on the small of Charles’ back, warm and protective. There’s a smile that never leaves Erik’s lips and there’s a different shine on Erik’s eyes, and Charles startles when he notices: Erik now looks at him the same way he looks at the piano keys. Focused, soulful, reverent. Grateful.

Charles swallows and loses himself inside the other’s gaze. It's as if he has peeled another layer off Erik, and he can peek now at a happier, softer person who is still half-hidden inside. He can't wait to see more of those layers off, and discover the real Erik. He feels it's going to be the most rewarding of discoveries, and the best thing he’s ever going to receive in life.

He says goodbye to Erik at his front door with another kiss and an offer at the tip of his tongue for Erik to come upstairs with him, but Erik smiles at him in that way that makes Charles feel treasured, caresses his cheek and kisses him again like before, a kiss that twists all his inner self, and softly says goodnight and walks away.

This time Charles doesn't stay there gazing at the other until he leaves, this time he runs upstairs as fast as his wobbly legs let him and leans against his door once he's inside and has it closed and breathes so fast he think he's going to pass out. Is he hyperventilating? No, it's not that. But what is it? His heart is erratically beating and he feels his hands sweaty and he wants to cry and laugh and dance at the same time and...

And is he in love? Is that what this is?

“Oh god. It can’t be, can it?” and he slides down until he sits on the floor, back resting against the door, trying to force the air back into his lungs.

♯3

Erik grabs his camera and his keys, puts them inside his satchel bag, grabs his sunglasses and walks out of his apartment.

It’s been two weeks since that glorious day when Charles surprised him during his piano practice. They have been kind of going out for those two weeks now, if what they’ve been doing can be called that, and they're having their first 'official date'. It's all really silly since he doesn't need this labels thing but then again, he does need it, since he’s never really done anything like this before. It all feels strange and new. He doesn't even know if they are a couple, if he should call Charles his boyfriend or what, since they haven't really talked about it. Things sort of happened, and now they just meet and talk about everything in the world, or talk about nothing and just enjoy each other's presence, Charles sketching sitting next to him while Erik munches on something or drinks some espresso and reads scores at the Piazza del Duomo; Charles feet hanging from the riverside while they sit enjoying some pistachio gelato and talk about their life back in London; Charles kissing him every opportunity he gets and at every street corner he finds.

It all feels like a dream, sincerely, and he's so grateful to have the blue eyed marvel with him.

They decided, kind of joking but in the end not really joking at all, to call this meeting an 'official date' and spend the day at the Boboli gardens, so Erik supposes he could start calling Charles his boyfriend... or not? He should ask. He's really too new in all this and he's not sure how it works, how long it takes to call someone a boyfriend. It’s not like he needs to call Charles his boyfriend, he already feels their bond in the right place. But it sure would be nice to call the other something of his own.

When he arrives at the Pitti palace, Charles is already there.

He's wearing a pair of denim shorts, knee length, and multi-strapped sandals. A short-sleeve white v-neck shirt and his favourite wayfarer sunglasses. Erik hurries his step towards him, already dying to kiss those addictive lips again.

Charles smiles at him when he sees him approach.

“There you are!” he tells him and closes the distance between them once Erik reaches him, kissing his lips in a soft peck. Erik's skin still prickles with their kisses as if it was the first one all over again.  
“Am I late?” he checks his wrist watch. He is not late.  
“No, but I was dying to see you” and Erik blames his body for being so weak to everything Charles says “I already bought the tickets so, shall we?” he offers his hand. Erik's heart skips a beat, and he holds Charles' offered hand. They walk inside the palace, hand in hand for the first time, not letting go even when they have to give their tickets to the entrance staff.

The day is clear and warm, still, even at the beginning of October. There's a map at the entrance of the gardens that they check, and then decide to walk all the way up the amphitheatre towards the Neptune fountain. The midday sun is really warm and not even the fresh summer clothes he's wearing are helping, so once they reach the Neptune fountain Charles offers to sit on the grass under a tree's shade, and Erik accepts.

They chat for a while, hands together and playing with their fingers, intertwining them and caressing them, and the mood is great, it’s fresh under the shade, a soft breeze moving the leaves creating a soothing noise. Erik has been working late these days, practicing a demanding piece for an exam, and he can feel himself growing drowsy.

“I feel like painting this” Charles says looking around.  
“Hm? The fountain?” Erik nods towards the sculpture down there, in the middle of the pond.  
“Yeah and the palace and the sky... I brought my watercolour pencils...” he looks up at Erik sheepishly and he can't avoid but chuckle. He loves how Charles always carries a sketchbook and something to paint with, anywhere he goes. It shows his passion for art, and Erik understands that soul deep.  
“Go on, I don't mind” Charles smiles and kisses his cheek, and proceeds to take out his bloc and his fabric pencil case. Erik watches him sketch for a while but decides to lie down and rest his tired eyes a little.  
“Would you mind if I lie down for a while while you paint? I haven't been getting much sleep lately and I'm more tired than I thought...” Charles looks at him frowning a little.  
“Are you feeling okay?”  
“Yes yes, just sleepy, really” he shrugs and Charles chuckles.  
“Okay, here, you can use my leg as your pillow” and he pats his thigh. Erik looks at him dumbfounded, and he supposes it's a funny expression since Charles laughs “Really, I don't mind” Erik takes two seconds more to analyze what has been offered, and then decides not to miss this chance.  
“Sure, if you don't mind?” and Charles pats his thigh again and really, who's Erik to deny a gift when offered?

So there he lies, on his back, head rested on Charles thigh while the other paints resting his bloc on his other raised thigh.

He's sure he's passed out because the next thing he feels is someone running fingers through his hair, and it feels wonderful. He opens his eyes and moves a little, the fingers on his hair stopping their movement but not going away.

“You awake?” he hears Charles asking and, moving his head back a little he finds the other looking down at him, soft blue eyes and softer smile, his hand indeed resting on Erik's head.  
“Was I gone for too long?”  
“Hmm twenty minutes or so? I didn't really check” and that's a lot, pretty shameful.  
“Sorry, I didn't mean to abandon you for that long!” he wants to sit up and apologize properly but Charles' fingers are still intertwined in his hair and he doesn't really want to lose that. Charles shakes his head.  
“No problem at all, I had time to finish my drawing”  
“Oh, can I see?” Charles bites his lower lip but then nods. The hand on Erik's hair moves away to grab the bloc, but Erik doesn't have much time to complain before the bloc is offered to him opened by the drawing he just did and, thankfully, the hand is back on his hair, caressing it. It does feel wonderful. “Wow Charles, this is really good” and it is. The colours are soft and spot on, a gorgeous graded wash on the sky work, and there's a lot of detail for it just being a colour sketch.  
“Thank you” a smile, and leaning down in a pretty impressive gymnastic way, a kiss to Erik's lips. “Are you in the mood to move? I'm pretty thirsty”  
“Of course” Erik sits up, turns to kiss Charles' lips again, and stands.

Charles picks up his stuff and puts it all inside the canvas bag he usually carries. He stands up, shakes off the grass from his pants then helps Erik to shake it all off from his back, and runs his fingers through Erik's hair to put it all in place. It's wonderful to have someone doing all that for you, taking care of those small details, and Erik doesn't understand how he's been able to live all of these years without it. But he does know, because he wouldn’t have let anyone do it. Only Charles. Only him.

The rest of the day passes in the same peaceful mood. They buy a couple of coke cans from the vending machines next to the restrooms, visit the porcelain museum where Charles wonders at the delicate tea sets (and Erik makes plenty of jokes of his English blood and his tea-loving cliché) and take hundreds of pictures with the Tuscan green and golden hills in the background. They walk down the steep oak avenue, getting lost in all the gorgeous side little paths with Charles stumbling and almost rolling all the way down (thankfully stopped by Erik’s long arm), and finally sit down at the _Isolotto_ , eating a couple of smoked cheese and artichokes _focaccias_ they bought outside the palace, and throwing some of the bread crumbs to the ducks who were circling the pond every couple of minutes.

It’s peaceful. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this peaceful. It all was fast paced and filled with anger and disappointment before. Now it’s just that, peaceful.

Erik is lying down on his back at the meadow with pillars, Charles lying down too, his head resting on Erik's belly, both of them looking up at the sky turning into dusk earlier than a few weeks ago.

“This is nice” he hears Charles say softly  
“Yeah it is”  
“We should go up to the Piazzale Michelangelo. The views from up there are breathtaking; you can see the whole of the city”  
“Sure, anytime” even if what Erik has to stop himself from answering is 'with you, anywhere'. Charles turns then, lying on his belly, his head rested on his hand, his elbows on the grass, looking up at Erik.  
“You're kind of mysterious, did you know?” Erik laughs softly, mostly just air coming out of his nose.  
“Am I now? Don't they say that's sexy?” and he adds a wink to Charles for good measure. Charles chuckles.  
“Well, at least it is in you” Charles inclines his head and looks at Erik with such softness in his eyes that could easily take all the breath away from him. “But I mean, there is something different about you. Sometimes I feel like I'm hanging around with royalty, all mature and silent majesty, and then right the next second you say one of your sarcastic, silly jokes and it's such a huge contrast, you know?” he laughs now, beautifully.  
“I am not going to take offense in being sarcastic royalty, thank you very much” and Charles keeps laughing, head falling back on Erik’s chest, and Erik can’t avoid but join him. He's pretty sure Charles wanted to say something else, something he might have wanted to hear. But, well, he can wait. This is good. This is more than good.

They part ways after a delicious dinner consisting on a board of different cheeses and honey types and Chianti wine in a small restaurant in the piazza della Felicita. It's getting weirder and weirder to say goodnight to Charles and walk back home alone, but it all still feels kind of surreal, and even a little bit fast-paced for him. He forces himself to step down on the brakes and take it all slowly, enjoy the road while he walks it.

After all, he feels as if he's going to be walking this road for a long time. Or at least, he's not really planning on changing lanes soon, so to say. Charles is clearly becoming his path, and his final destination.

* * *

“So who's this kid on every picture?” his mother asks through the Skype window on his laptop.  
“That's Charles, mom, I've told you about him” or at least he thinks he's done it? Maybe he should have selected the pictures more carefully because now he can see that Charles is indeed in almost every picture, next to him in selfies or alone or just doing dork stuff around. There's one where he sneaked in the picture without Erik noticing, where he's trying to copy the same contorted pose the sculpture in the picture has, and failing miserably. Erik laughed hard when he saw it.  
“You mentioned making a _friend_ called Charles, yes, but...” and oh Erik does know his mother perfectly, and he knows when she's teasing him. He’s not going to let her play.  
“Yes, mom, he's more than a friend” and his mother shrieks in joy, literally.  
“Erik, my boy, that is wonderful!!” and it is, it is, isn't it? “Look at your smile, oh my”  
“Mama...” he whines somehow because only his mother can make him feel like an ashamed teenager all over again.  
“You have to introduce us, I want to talk to your boyfriend!” _Ah._  
“Well. It's not like we're calling ourselves that, or anything, yet...” it's pretty normal, after all. It's only been what, almost three weeks? And they've only exchanged kisses and gone to some dinners and sightseeing tours and, it's still not that serious. It's pretty normal.  
“What? How can that be? Don't you love him??” Erik has to take a steady breath at that.  
“It's... too soon to tell, mama” is it, really?  
“Nonsense. I know you, you're not one to dawdle in that sort of behaviour. If this Charles kid is already in so many pictures, this is serious for you, Erik, and you know it” and yes. Yes, he knows it.

He can try and fool everyone else, but he can't fool himself. He's a loner at heart, he's always been, and he doesn't search the company of anyone nor need it at all. He really prefers to be alone all the time. But Charles, in just a couple of meetings, stole his whole attention and changed all of his methods of operating. Crumbled all of his self-defence.

He wants to spend time with Charles, he genuinely wants to learn more about Charles. He cares about Charles. He cares about Charles' opinion of him. He wants to make the other smile, he wants to protect him, he wants to listen to the other talk, he wants to talk back and argue and agree. He wants to touch Charles and kiss Charles and spend every second of every day with him.

He wants to compose sonatas about Charles’ lips. About his eyes. His bright blue eyes. He wants to compose entire symphonies only for his smile or the way his breath catches every time Erik kisses him. The way his fingers curl on Erik's waist. The way he looks up at him, eyes full of something that makes Erik's soul tremble in want.

He is in love with Charles.

“Mama...” and she has to notice it, the way his voice has changed, the way his eyes have lowered, because she sighs.  
“I know, my boy. But don't worry at all? Look how he smiles in every photo!” and Erik does look, and Charles is indeed smiling widely on every frame, even wider when they're both together in the picture “Just have patience, my Erik. That smile doesn't lie”

He hopes so with all of his being. Because he's never been in love before, not really, and it's way scarier than he thought.

* * *

Charles is sleeping, his head rested on Erik's shoulder. They've been on the bus for more than one hour now, so Erik thinks they might be close.

That last Friday they decided to go on a short trip to visit some Tuscan city outside of Florence, have a taste of the countryside, and a short internet search on their phones later told them they should simply visit San Gimignano, and on the way they are. They have to change buses at a city called Poggibonsi, but the next bus it's only a ten minutes ride.

It's a plus when Charles is all sleepy eyed and warm and cuddly waiting for the next bus, completely glued to his side, his hand holding Erik's and their fingers intertwined. They aren't talking, but Erik feels on top of the world.

Finally arriving at the gate of San Gimignano after a steep ascend through the hills, Charles is almost completely awake, stretching his arms up over his head once he's out of the bus. The weather is starting to be quite cold now, almost at the end of October, so he's wearing a brown faux-leather hooded jacket. It looks pretty good on him. But then again Erik is already way too biased, and thinks everything looks pretty good on him. Charles puts on his sunglasses and Erik does the same. Even if the weather is getting colder, the sky is still clear blue. Probably it will be hot once they hit midday.

“Shall we?” He centres his attention back on Charles and finds him offering his hand for the taking. Erik doesn't think it one second.  
“Let's go” he grabs Charles' offered hand and they walk together into the walled town.

The place is truly beautiful. The main street is not that wide and the houses around are tall and everything is grey, dark stone, and high, high towers. No wonder they call it the 'medieval Manhattan'.

Charles is reading information out loud from a pocket guide they've bought at the bus station but he hasn't let go of Erik's hand for one second. He feels elated.

“And this is the Piazza Cisterna, it seems, called like that because of that well over there” Charles is saying, and Erik looks towards said well, actually interested in everything about this town, maybe just because Charles' is the one explaining it “and there...” he suddenly gasps at whatever he is reading and turns ninety degrees to look behind him “oh my god” he breathes and Erik frowns.  
“Something wrong?” he checks the other's face and notices Charles is gaping at something in front of him. Erik follows the gaze and the only thing he can see is an ice cream shop and... and that's it, isn't it? If he's learnt something for sure about Charles is that he's ridiculously obsessed with Italian gelato.  
“Seriously, Charles? Speechless over ice-cream?”  
“You don't understand it. That shop there has won the best gelato in the world, twice. In the _world_ , Erik!” he turns wide worshipper eyes towards him and Erik can't stop himself from laughing out loud.  
“Laugh all you want, darling, but we're so getting one” Charles walks towards the ice cream shop, pulling him behind, and Erik is barely chuckling now. _Darling_. He's smiling like a fool, he feels it.

They get their gelatos, Erik paying for them all, and he has to admit these are some goddamn amazing ice creams. Probably the best he's ever tasted. He's gotten a dark-chocolate and orange with Cointreau one plus tiramisu. They are sitting at the small Duomo stairs in the square, and he can hear Charles making small noises of delight every time he licks some of the gelato. It's somehow making him all flustered. Probably he’s even blushing.

“Stop making noises, you pig” he elbows Charles softly, so the other understands he's only joking.  
“Making you uncomfortable?” Charles smirks and damn him for hitting right on the spot. Just to be more of his infuriating self, Charles licks more of the ice cream, eyes never leaving Erik's, and openly moans in delight. Erik knows he's fluorescent now, and Charles bursts out laughing at his expense. The minx.  
“Actually it's a good idea that you start practicing those noises around me, _darling_ ” he doesn't know why he's said that, only that he felt he needed some revenge. He doesn't know why he hasn't stopped himself. He's blushing even harder now and Charles is gaping at him, and is going completely red and oh. Actually, he's glad he’s just said that, if only for the deep blush spreading all over Charles' freckles and neck and ears. It's glorious. He smiles smugly and continues eating his ice cream.  
“You're evil” Charles narrows his eyes at him, and steals some of his tiramisu ice cream, licking it as if he just got the most satisfying of vendettas. Erik let's him be.

It does indeed turn pretty warm when the midday sun is right upon them, so they take off their jackets and eat at a terrace out in the main street. They have some nice Chianti wine and share a glorious Fiorentina steak that's more than five hundred grams of delicious rare done meat. They take pictures of it in case no one believes them, and take more pics of the empty plates later, feeling accomplished and victorious in eating the biggest piece of meat they've ever been offered.

They decide to take a walk on the outer paths of the walls to wash all the food down, enjoying the views of the vineyards at the valleys below, Charles' arm around his waist and his own arm around the other's shoulders. Still, they aren't labelling themselves as nothing yet, and it already feels a little weird. They're acting like a couple, aren't they? Holding hands and going on trips together and sharing food and taking pics and kissing at every possible moment. So why not just simply call it by its name?

Then again he might be old fashioned in all this. He's never really dated seriously, maybe when he was a teen and it was over in a week. He's only had casual sex, no feelings attached, always. Maybe now that he's into this feelings business he's coming into it with old ideas taken from movies, thinking it's necessary to say you're someone's boyfriend, when actually it's not necessary. Charles seems more up to date in this business, seems to know more about how these things should be done, and clearly what they're doing speaks for itself so. _Stop racking your brain up, Lehnsherr. And enjoy._

Night falls in their way back to Florence, and Charles is again comfortably asleep on his shoulder, holding Erik's hand between both his own, mouth half open, relaxed. Yes Lehnsherr. Just enjoy it.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles5s.jpg.html)

* * *

Erik finds himself in front of the piano at his place, blank score pages resting at the stool next to him, a pen on his right hand, his left hand playing the keys. A melody floating in his head, being repeated again and again. A song about the bluest of eyes and the brightest of smiles.

Erik finds himself composing a piece for Charles. Maybe he is old fashioned, maybe nowadays it's not necessary to say it with words, but he has to say it. He needs to make Charles understand how he feels, what he means to him. How grateful he is for meeting the other, how glad he is of Charles accepting him, welcoming him. How happy he is, for the first time in his life. How scared he is of being so happy. How for the first time ever he doesn’t want to be alone again.

Maybe it’s not necessary to say it with words, sure, but he's going to say it the best way he knows: with music.

* * *

November third, Charles has called him and in an urgent voice asked him for a favour. He needs some portfolio he has forgotten at his place but he can't leave the gallery he is at now, seemingly attending a seminar with an important art editor from some or another worldwide famous art magazine who Charles wants to show his work to. He knows Erik is free that afternoon so he tells him to ring his neighbour's apartment since the lady is the owner of the building and has a copy of everyone's apartment keys.

It feels weird going there alone. He's been up to Charles' apartment once, and only for like ten minutes, and Kitty was there with them. It feels extremely invasive to go on his own, without even Charles.

The lady gives him the keys without much asking and Erik makes a note to himself to talk to Charles about the security in his building. He walks into Charles apartment and can't avoid gawking around.

Charles apartment is what could be called high-class. He knows Charles comes from big money, something the other has never hidden from Erik, but this apartment is kind of overwhelming. It's an attic in an old reformed palazzo building, with high vaulted ceilings and marble floors. The first room you see when entering is the living room, a massive space with an open kitchen and two immense windows and a glass door that leads to a terrace with views of the Duomo and the Giotto bell tower itself. Only for those views the apartment would be amazing, but no, there’s more. He walks down the hall and towards where Charles has told him his portfolio is, at the study at the end of the hall. He passes Charles' bedroom and can't avoid himself from peeking in since the door is open and wow. Seriously. Only Charles could have antique furniture and a frescoed high ceiling in his room. And he calls him royalty? Sure.

He continues his way to the study and this looks more like Charles' personality: a big chaos of papers, easels and canvases and an explosion of colour everywhere. Exactly how he is. A colourful riot. But the study is also posh, and it has two stained glass windows, and Erik finds himself rolling his eyes.

At least said portfolio is exactly where Charles said it would be, and he's going to grab it when his phone rings breaking the silence at the place. He takes it from his pocket and notices it's Charles.

“I'm just grabbing the portfolio now and I'm on my way” Erik says as a hello.  
“Ah, darling, sorry, you can forget about it” Erik delights in how Charles is calling him all this endearments lately.  
“Why? I'm already here and it's no bother”  
“No no, it's just, the guy had to go and couldn't stay after the talk, so there's no chance of me showing my work” he can even hear the pout from the phone.  
“That sucks, Charles” and it does. Charles' art is amazing, extremely realistic and detailed, full of colours, movement, life. He deserves to have a chance, some when. Soon, if possible.  
“It's fine. I'm on my way home now, I'll need ten minutes more or so. Wait for me there? I'll invite you to some beers, since you were doing me a favour after all” Charles' voice sounds happier now.  
“No need to, it was my pleasure” Erik answers trustfully.  
“And this will be my pleasure, so just wait there! And don't steal my masterpieces” he jokes. Erik chuckles.  
“Tempting, but the day I get one Xavier original I want to buy it, not steal it”  
“Silly...” but Erik hears the warmth in Charles' tone. “Wait for me” not a question.  
“I'll be here”. They finish the call.

Erik leaves the portfolio where it was, knocking some papers off the desk while doing it, and kneels down to grab them and put them on the desk. His fingers freeze half way, seeing what was under those knocked off papers. Open sketchbooks. Drawings. Portraits. Of him. Lots and lots of portraits.

There's one where he is sitting somewhere smoking a cigarette with his sunglasses on. Another where he is sleeping on the grass, he recognizes it from their Boboli gardens date. Sneaky Charles, drawing him while he was sleeping. There's another of him smiling, looking down into something that seems the sketch of a book? There's one of him playing the piano. He grabs this one and nears it to his eyes. This one is more detailed than the rest, charcoal with some details in white chalk and sienna colour. Is this how he looks when he's playing? This portrait seems like a commissioned piece by the royalty of old, something that could be hung up inside the walls of a palace, or a worldwide famous music hall before a performance. He looks grand, majestic. Is this how he looks to Charles?

He feels like crying.

The sound of keys, a door opening. He swallows down the burning feel knotting itself in his throat. Charles voice sounds from the study's door.

“There you are” and he can't answer, he can't tear his eyes away from that painting. “Erik? Everything all right?” he feels Charles getting close to him and he feels more than hears when Charles inhales sharply. “Oh”  
“Are... is this....” and he doesn't even know what he wants to ask, moved beyond words.  
“Sorry... does this bother you? I kind of couldn't stop myself from painting you...” and Charles voice sounds so small, so unsure, and this is not what Erik wants. At all.  
“God, come here” he grabs Charles by his neck and brings him forward, crushing his lips with Charles', nothing else to say.

Charles gasps, taken by surprise, but soon is up to follow Erik's rhythm, as fast as it is. But Erik can't stop it, can't calm it. No one has ever done anything close to this for him, no one has ever touched him as deeply as Charles is doing. No one has ever found him interesting enough, even less to be the subject of a painting. Oh dear lord what is Charles doing to him.

The kiss ends, running out of breath, and Erik keeps his eyes closed, his forehead resting on Charles'.

“I get you like them” Charles whispers and Erik laughs, and laughs like he's never really laughed, carefree and happy and moved. And loved. He feels loved.  
“I love them. Charles, god, I love them” I love _you_ , is what he means.  
“I'm glad... it was important for me that you liked them, you know?” Charles' hands are on Erik's cheeks, caressing, his eyes searching into Erik's ones “because you know it, right? How much I like you?” and that's it, that's all he's needed to hear all these weeks. With a whimpering noise that at any other situation would have been shameful, he leans down to capture back those red lips.

Charles answers fervently, his arms going around Erik's neck, holding him tight, tight against him, and Erik envelopes Charles waist with his arms, not wanting to let go, never wanting to let go. Never. The kiss is deep and frantic, wet and soul searching. He hears Charles doing delicious noises, and he's sure he's making those noises back. When he comes back into his senses he notices he's pushed Charles against the desk, and Charles takes but one second jumping up and sitting on it, his legs coming around his waist, and this is it isn't it? This is it. Erik's heart is going to beat itself out of his chest.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles6s.jpg.html)

He breaks the kiss and looks down into those cobalt blue eyes, oceans of care and acceptance looking back at him, and lust, oh those deep pools of lust, sinful. Charles is flustered and his lips are redder than ever and shining and Erik can't do more than let out a shaky breath because he’s done that. He.

“Erik...”  
“Charles”  
“Let's go to my bedroom”

Another shaky exhale, eyes closed. A nod. A nod back from Charles. He grabs the blue eyed marvel and lifts him up, Charles legs around his waist holding on strongly, his arms around his shoulders, his lip on his neck and jawline, kissing, smiling, biting.

They reach the bedroom in barely three steps, and then he's carelessly throwing Charles onto the bed, who laughs up at him.

“Wild, I like it” and Erik finally cracks a smile. This is Charles, this is the guy who has changed his everything and broke all his walls and rules by just being himself, the guy who with just a smile and a soft voice made the most buried of Erik's essence to come out and shine. There's no need to be so scared, so nervous. Smirking down at Charles, he takes of his henley shirt and throws it to the floor. Charles' eyes are all over his now naked torso, searching, admiring “I knew it, I could feel you had a nice body. But wow, Erik, you should have told me you're an Olympic god” Erik groans and blushes.  
“Charles, for fucks' sake” because only Charles could be this cheesy in this moment. The telepath smiles cheekily and proceeds to take of his own polo. He raises an eyebrow as if daring Erik to find something wrong with his body, and really, there's absolutely nothing wrong in that body. Charles is extremely fitted, with his high and slim and delicious waist and perky abs and nipples and...  
“Stop looking at me like that and come here or I swear...” Erik doesn't give him a chance to finish, climbing on the bed and crawling over him “much better” he whispers, throwing an arm around Erik's shoulder and pushing him down, kissing him again, fervently.

Some way or another the rest of their clothes fly off. He's sure Charles has taken off his pants because he's been trembling since those fingers ran over his naked thighs pushing the jeans down. Charles is completely naked under him, and only his own underwear is keeping them from direct contact. Charles is writhing, breathing shallowly, skin completely flushed. There are constellations of freckles everywhere on that skin and it's mesmerizing. His skin is so pale and his freckles are so wonderful contrasting on it. And his body is just... perfect. Sure he's way shorter than Erik and yet he's probably more powerfully muscled. His thighs are those of a football player. His abs are compact and his pectorals are defined, and his biceps... god his biceps.

Charles is someone who normally would be completely out of Erik's league. So caring, so funny, so smart, so gorgeous. Someone who wouldn’t be interested in the loner, stoic Erik. He doesn't really believe his luck. Probably he's just said that out loud, since Charles is smiling up at him with a fondness in his gaze that’s almost humbling to witness.

“Have you looked at yourself, dear?” it's what Charles says. Nonsense. Erik is nothing in comparison “Now take that off before I go crazy” and Erik obliges, removing his underwear with a hand, kicking it all the rest of the way off, and holding himself over Charles with the other. Charles makes a strangled noise and Erik looks questioningly into his face “Oh come on, this can’t be real, look at that, you're perfect _everywhere_. Now come, come here, right now, please” and so Erik does.

It's been pretty long since the last time he's done this, longer than a sane, healthy person would like to admit, but it all feels natural, pure instinct with Charles. Hands caressing here, lips kissing there, lower, lower, lower until he's right where Charles begs him to be, turning the other into a writhing mess of moans and gasps. Hands tugging at his hair. Legs tightening around his torso. And stop, stop, but he doesn't and Charles orgasm tastes sweet and salty at the same time in his mouth.

He's being pulled towards awaiting lips that devour him, and hands are down on him, tightening, surrounding, moving fast. Gasps, shivers. His hands joining Charles’, faster, faster.

“Erik” his name as a gospel, a whisper of reverence. And he's never felt this pleasure from only hands, never felt his heart beating in rhythm with it. And he's gone. He's shaking, and being held down, grounded, and gone.

He falls on Charles, who's running his hands up and down Erik's back. Kisses everywhere, on every available centimetre of skin. He feels it in his body, in his skin, and gives them back to Charles.

“We need to do that again” He hears Charles' say after long minutes, and he can't stop himself from laughing.  
“Any time, dear” and it's the truth. Any time. All the time.  
“Give me five minutes more and I'll take your word for it” and he's still laughing when he kisses Charles mouth.

He spends the night at Charles.

They do it again on the bed, this time Charles mouth on him, nirvana inside those lips, at the same time his hands bring Charles to ecstasy.

They do it an hour later at the shower, hands holding themselves together and rubbing fast, offbeat, desperate, open mouthed kisses and exchanging gasps and entwining tongues over sleek, wet lips.

He finally makes love to Charles on the living room couch, after dinner, after they've relaxed and while watching a silly Italian romantic comedy. Like teenagers in heat, as soon as the sex scene in the movie happens, they can't stop themselves. It's the right mood and the right moment and Erik doesn't want to think about it or feel like they should slow down. So when Charles looks up at him all dark eyes and seductive smirk, he goes for it.

And they're naked again in seconds, but this time there's lube involved and a condom, and his soul burning at the most intense pleasure he's ever felt finally penetrating Charles, sweet, warm, precious Charles. Hands on his waist, knees on the couch, Charles bent over at his mercy.

It's faster than he would have wanted, almost primal, but it's been a long built up to this and he just can't slow it, he wants to have all of Charles, he wants to posses every millimetre, to own every breath and every moan and every little gasp leaving those lips. _Mine, mine, mine_. He's close, he's so close, and Charles just looks at him right when he reaches his own orgasm, turning his head over his shoulder, mouth open in a silent cry, and that's all he needs.

It's, without a doubt, the best sex he's ever had.

They curl at the couch, Charles throwing a blanket over them, and they fall asleep just like that. Tight on each other's embrace, Charles's head on his chest, the TV playing silly Italian comedies, the kitchen lights on.

It's been years since he fell asleep as fast and comfortable as he’s doing right now.

* * *

Charles is awake but lazily sprawled under the bed covers when he comes back from the bathroom. Some when during the night Erik woke up and carried Charles to the bedroom since it was pretty cold at the living room. He would still be in bed himself if it wasn't because he had to meet with his piano mentor and had to grab some stuff from his own place for the meeting.

“I should really buy a motorbike” he grumbles, not looking forward to having to walk all the way to his place, or waiting for the miracle of a bus appearing on time.  
“Hmm, I approve, that would be sexy” Charles mumbles from the bed, his eyes almost closed and his smile sleepy and lazy. It's the most wonderful sight he's ever seen.  
“Well, now it's a must” Charles chuckles, and Erik leans down to kiss him  
“I'll see you later?”  
“Yes. You won't get rid of me that easily, mister Xavier” Charles chuckles again and lifts his head from the pillow to kiss Erik's lips again. And really, can't he call in sick?  
“Go” Charles says when the kiss ends “Call me later”  
“Okay... bye” and he kisses Charles again and he knows he's going to be kissing him for the rest of the day. No, for the rest of his life. Charles chuckles and pushes him away.  
“Go or you won't leave!”  
“Okay okay” he sighs and smiles and looks one last time at the wonderful sight on the bed. Charles throws him a flying kiss, and Erik shakes his head, but plays the part and does as if he caught it. Charles smiles delighted, and that's when Erik decides if he doesn't leave now, he'll never do it.

He's running down the stone staircase of Charles building, his mood never been better, whistling some Mozart melody he can't now really pinpoint beyond it being Mozart's. Throwing the front door open and stepping outside the street, he has to stop himself before colliding with someone who was right there at the door.

“Hey, easy man” he hears and, when he looks up, that's Remy right there.  
“Oh, hello” Erik says. Remy looks at him and then smiles a lewd smile that makes Erik's skin prickle with something not entirely nice.  
“Good morning, I would say, at least for you, pretty obviously” and Erik feels like checking himself, does he have anything incriminating? Does he have written on his face 'I've finally slept with Charles Xavier'? Because the way Remy is looking at him makes him think so. “Finally Charles got you, huh? He's been pretty annoying about it”  
“Excuse me?” Erik doesn't really want to hear, but he feels like he has to.  
“Yeah man, since that night ages ago when we had drinks together? All he talked about was how he couldn't get you in bed and how he wouldn't stop until he did. And finally, he will stop now” it feels like the temperature has dropped a few hundred degrees, and yet his hands are sweaty.  
“What are you exactly implying?” it's the only phrase his brain seems to be able to form.  
“Oh, don't take it wrongly; it's not your fault. Charles does that with everyone! I met him in London and he was just the same. Every time he fancied a guy he would stop at nothing until that guy went to bed with him, and then he moved on to another. He's a flirt, that Xavier. How do you think we met?”

And that's all he feared since the first day, wasn't it? But he was so stupid, so inexperienced in these games, he thought it all real. Genuine. But of course, how would someone like Charles, so extroverted, so friendly, so smart, gorgeous, rich, so out of his league, want to have anything serious with Erik? Stoic Erik, cold Erik, loner Erik. Heartless Erik. Stupid, fucking stupid Erik.

“You okay, friend?”

He says nothing, he can't say anything. He just nods his head and turns and walks away. Of course it was too good to be true. He should've known better. It never, never is as good as it seems, at least in his life. Never.

Grabbing his phone, he ends up calling in sick for the meeting. No way he's going to touch the piano today. No way he's going to do anything today. Stupid, stupid Erik. Gullible Erik.

He lets his feet wander and tries to keep his mind blank. He forbids himself to let any tear go, not even a single one. He's stupid enough, no need to cry to prove it even more.

It was obvious, so obvious. Charles never labelling them. Charles never confessing anything. So obvious. He just didn’t want to see it.

At dusk he finds himself at the Piazzale Michelangelo, the whole of Florence at his feet, bathed in an orange light. It's dreamy, and he understands why Charles wanted him to see it. Well, does he? If Charles only wanted sex, why go through all that? The dates, the day trips, the kisses. But well, that was probably the only way he had of getting Erik into bed. Fucking weird Erik, who can't act like a normal adult and have a healthy one night stand. Who has to go and get wooed by the biggest flirt in town, seemingly. And does believe him. And lets his heart believe it.

And lets his heart be crushed by it.

His phone rings. It's Charles. He answers it.

“Yes”  
“Erik? Sorry if I am interrupting something but, you said you'll call and...”  
“Sorry, extremely busy”  
“Oh. Oh sorry, yeah. We'll talk later then?”  
“Sure”  
“... Erik?”  
“Yes?”  
“... never mind. Call you later”

Erik hangs without saying goodbye.

Why did he call him now? This makes no sense. Maybe Remy had it all wrong, why would Charles call him if he only wanted to get into bed? He's had that already. What if. What if...

Breathe Erik, breathe and calm down and think. He's running after random thoughts and his mind is a chaos. _You're a smart man, Erik, detach yourself from this and think calmly about it. It always works._

Charles. Charles never said he loved Erik, or he wanted any kind of relationship with Erik. But he did say he liked him very much. And he really did seem like he enjoyed Erik's company. Maybe Charles is a flirt, maybe all that Remy said was true. Maybe Erik changed that? After all, Charles changed Erik.

It sounds like a fairy tale, or a silly romantic Italian movie. These things don't happen in real life. And yet...it did happen for him.

He decides to go home and sleep on it. His head is too chaotic and his feelings are too messed up after last night, he can't see anything clearly. Better to sleep on it and see things more clearly tomorrow. He turns his phone off, and tries to keep his mind blank.

To say he barely sleeps at all is an understatement.

* * *

Erik turns his phone on and calls Charles at midday. He's reasoned with himself that the best way to proceed is to ask Charles directly. They aren't teens anymore, they are mature adults who can solve these misunderstandings talking. If Charles only wanted a fuck buddy Erik will tell him he didn't want that and walk away. His heart will shatter, now that he knows what he feels for Charles is love, but it's better this way than to be wondering at home what is happening. He’s been playing the hurt damsel in distress for enough hours. Time to fix things in a logical way.

Charles doesn't answer his phone, the voicemail coming on. Erik doesn't leave any message.

He tries calling Charles ten minutes later. Voicemail comes on. He leaves no message.

He tries calling Charles two hours later. Voicemail comes on. He leaves no message.

He tries calling Charles five more times during the day, and none of the calls connect. He keeps getting the hateful generic voicemail. Is Charles avoiding him? Did something happen to him?

Another night where he barely sleeps at all. When he does, it's restless.

* * *

He's been trying to call Charles for two days, and his call only went through once, and it was answered by a girl who told him Charles was very busy and wouldn't answer any call.

And that was it. Obviously Charles was avoiding him, and asked some friend to answer Erik's calls to tell him to stop bothering him. And Erik will, of course he will. It’s going to hurt, but he has enough pride left to know when to stop.

What a terrible way of ending what felt like the best story Erik would ever be a part of.

* * *

Another two days later, Charles is waiting for him at his front door.

For a second he doesn't really know what to do. Charles hasn't seen him yet so he could just turn away and leave... but he's not a coward. He's had two days to think and feel used and cheated and to be extremely angry at the brit. He's ready for this.

Charles lifts his head as soon as Erik is in front of him, a soft smile on his lips and Erik wants to punch him. Four days of losing sleep over this fucker, and here he is, soft smiles and sea eyes and oceans of freckles on his skin.

“Hey” and it's unfair how his voice still does this to him, how a lonely syllable can undo him like this.  
“What are you doing here?” Charles frowns. Good.  
“well, I just came back and... didn't you notice I was away?”  
“Barely” he searches for his keys in his satchel bag. Anything to not having to look at those eyes.  
“Erik, what's wrong?”  
“What's wrong?” he almost yelled, and he knows Charles knows it too by the way his eyes widen, probably his telepathy catching on his mood “you tell me what's wrong. Tell me why after what we did, you disappear for four days, and say nothing to me at all” he's whispering out of rage because he can't conceive the idea of talking in a normal, civilized tone as of now.  
“I had an emergency, had to fly back to London. I tried calling you that same night but your phone was off?” Erik snorts and Charles frowns deeper “It's true!”  
Erik opens the door and steps in, feels Charles following and this is a nightmare, isn't it? He's so, so angry.  
“Erik please, talk to me, what's wrong??” Erik stops midway of going up the staircase and looks down at the other, who looks so lost it almost stops his fury. Almost.  
“Okay I'll tell you what's wrong. It so happens that I'm a fucking idiot, you know? I'm just a weirdo who seemingly is a great conquest for a fucking flirt like you” and now he is talking louder.  
“Excuse me??” Oh he dares to look scandalized.  
“Come on Charles”  
“No, seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?”  
“I'm talking about how the first fucking thing anyone tells me after stepping out of your place that day is how you finally got me in bed so you will _finally_ turn the page and shut up about wanting to shag me!” and now he is yelling “Move to some new fancy of yours, find a new conquest to mark on your bedpost!!”  
“What the.. who the fuck told you all that crap??” Charles is flustered, frowning, angry, so so angry. It's unfair how attractive he is even being angry. It angers Erik even more.  
“Your beloved Remy friend, who seems has seen you doing the same thing back in England, time and time again. Who, _fuck_ , actually has been in my same position before!” Charles is speechless, his eyes wide, and Erik is torn between feeling victorious and crumbling down. Deep down he was still expecting Charles to tell him he was wrong, he was special, it was special. He was still expecting the Italian romantic comedy to happen.  
“That's not... oh god, Erik, it's not like that”  
“Yeah, you proved exactly how it was by ignoring my calls for four fucking days”  
“I was in London and I was with my sister and my phone had no line and I didn't notice it until after two days!!”  
“If that makes you feel better, good. Now please, just leave, go conquer someone else’s pants”  
“Erik, no, damn it!!” Charles walks up the stairs until he is right below him. Erik feels trapped “This is nothing like those times, Remy is a fucking idiot and”  
“Stop it!!” Charles looks at him speechless “Stop messing with my head and just fucking go!! I was so much better without knowing you!!” And he's thinking it, loudly, screaming those same words in his head towards Charles, and knows Charles has heard it and felt it the way his eyes widen in horror, and the way they become brighter while turning reddish and fuck, fuck just go, don't cry, just disappear.  
“Okay”

Charles Xavier turns, walks down the stairs, and walks out of the building. Erik sits down at the stairs, grabs a cigarette, lights it between shaky fingers. Now it really is over. Now he can go back to being his stoic self, his professional self. His mind will go back to being focused, he'll stop being a mess. He'll stop it all.

It feels... horrible.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles7s.jpg.html)

♯4

Slamming the door after himself, he throws his bag to the floor and falls face first on the couch. He's exhausted. It's been three days since everything exploded, since Erik decided that he was the worst insect in the world and didn't deserve a chance to explain anything. It makes him so angry. It's so unfair. And, at the same time, it is completely fair.

Charles acted like he normally did, when the situation is anything but normal. Erik is nothing like the others, feels nothing like the others. He has made Charles want to do things he never cared to do before, like spending time with the other doing nothing, or wanting to share memories, or make new ones. He made Charles want to travel, to listen to new music, to watch sunsets. He made Charles want to kiss and hold hands, and be happy only with it, not just as a way to kill time until the sex. For the first time, actually, Charles’ main focus wasn't the sex. For the first time he wanted the everything else that comes with a relationship. Damn, he wanted the relationship. He still wants it.

So why, when they finally broke the barrier and made love together, he acted like an asshole? Sure, he really did have an emergency call from Raven, and he did promise that, no matter where he was, he would run back home as soon as she needed him. But. That's no excuse. If Erik was special, _is_ special, Charles should have treated the situation like that. He should have checked his phone before, he should have noticed his Italian phone company left him without line once back in London. He should have fixed it before.

It's not like he wasn't thinking about Erik the whole time, quite the contrary. Erik was on his mind since the moment he walked out the door until. Well, until now. He's still there, constantly. And Charles is so mad at him, and himself too, for fucking this up. For messing the real deal. The thing he never thought he would find, he never cared to find: love.

He just wasn't used to this, he never had to call anyone the day after. He only has experience with one night stands and. And no, these are all excuses. He should have known better.

But he's not going to give up. Sure Erik isn't answering his calls, sure Erik seems like a damn stubborn person, and from all they've talked and learnt from each other in all these weeks, Erik is quite a closed individual, not really trusting or extroverted or really enjoying people's company in general. And that makes Charles feel even worse. He had something wonderful in his hands, hadn't he? The trust and care from someone like Erik. Erik's smiles, and time, and intelligent conversations. And his hands, and his lips.

He groans and buries his head deeper into the couch pillows.

Today he met with Remy, all intentions of blaming him for this disaster. It was him who told Erik all that stuff that pissed Erik off. But as soon as Charles started talking to Remy he noticed he had nothing to complain about, really. Remy only knows the way he's been until now, a party goer with a liberal mind for sex. A flirt without second thoughts. Why would Remy know this time was serious? Plus, he had really been eating Remy's ear off with how much he wanted Erik and how much he was anticipating it. No wonder the other misunderstood it. He had the basis to misunderstand it, after all.

In the end he just told all that's happening to Remy, who was surprised but then genuinely sorry, and who tried to give some advice even if Charles wasn't sure advice coming from the second biggest flirt he's ever known would be good.

He sits up, goes to his study and let's himself fall heavily on the chair. Looking around the desk he sees all his sketches, paintings, art supplies. He grabs one of the sketches on the other end of the desk: a portrait of Erik. He sighs. He's done about a dozen of Erik portraits already, his muses inspired every time the pianist was around. And how not to be inspired? Erik's features were the perfect canon of beauty. The strong jawline, the angular and sharp cheeks, the straight nose, the thin lips, the deep, deep blue-green eyes, pure steel and yet warm like the summer sea. Erik is practically the perfect description of 'manly', and Charles' heart gives an erratic beat remembering those features kissing him, those callous, thin and long pianist fingers caressing his naked skin, those narrow hips moving like a dancer over him. He could cry, having touched heaven and being denied access to it so suddenly. He wants more, he needs more. He needs Erik in his life, as a constant.

Grabbing a sketch pad and a short piece of charcoal, he starts furiously tracing lines over the grainy paper, lines that without a doubt will form Erik's handsome face in the end.

He really needs to do something about this, and soon.

* * *

Next day, he's having a cup of tea at his balcony, watching the afternoon sky bathed in white clouds that are moving fast over the Giotto tower due to the strong winds. His mind blank, not wanting to really think on anything now, needing a break from a sleepless night when he's been planning every possible solution to this problem, when suddenly he sees him.

Erik is walking on the street below, smartly dress in black and whites, sunglasses on, and with the messenger bag he normally carries to classes. And of course, he has to attend a meeting with his piano mentor today, and probably he will stay there until late, like always and... and the conservatoire is only a block away in his same street...

Should he?

Biting his lower lip, eyes following Erik's figure all the way until he stops at the conservatoire entrance, throwing what seems a cigarette to the ground and oh. Looking towards his balcony, noticing Charles there, and turning his face and practically running inside the building. And somehow that slaps Charles into motion.

He grabs his phone and calls his sister, who answers at the second ring.

“Any progress?” she's been counselling Charles about what to do with Erik, and Charles will be eternally thankful for it.  
“He just walked down the street and looked right at me and turned super fast but he did look at me when he didn't have to do it and that has to mean something, right?”  
“Charles, you should breathe, really” and he does, taking a deep breath “good. See? I told you he was still thinking about you. For what you told me the guy was deeply into you, and I bet my flat on it, he still is deeply into you” that has to mean a lot, Raven worships her Chelsea flat.  
“What do I do? I want to go and talk to him right now...”  
“Then go and talk to him right now! I'm sure this is something that will be fixed as soon as you both act like adults and _talk_ ” she sounds pretty irritated, but never judgmental or angry. Charles is so glad he has a sister as amazing as Raven is.  
“Okay. Yes, okay!”  
“Good luck, then. Call me later?”  
“Of course” and of course he will. She's saving his sanity, these days.

They hang up and he just grabs his windbreaker and keys and runs down the steps and all the way to the conservatoire. The lady at the entrance nods at him, probably remembering him, and he's glad about it.

He walks at top speed all the way up to the second floor, end of the hall, and then to the right. He hears the piano playing, so he stops before opening the door and takes a peek inside by the door window. Erik is sitting at the piano, playing, and there's another man in the room, few years older than Erik, standing at Erik's left and focused looking at the piano and Erik's hands. Charles deduces that's his mentor and decides to wait outside and not interrupt. He sits on the bench next to the door, and waits.

A shiver runs down Charles' arms. 

[The song Erik is playing is extremely fast](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/sylaj8v6fw/Beethoven-_Sonata_23_In_F_Minor_Op._57_-Appassionata-_-_3._Allegro_Ma_Non_Troppo_-_Annie_Fischer.m.mp3), and every note is a staccato of pure rage. It's constricting his heart, almost making him dizzy, the quantity of different notes coming at the highest of tempos from the classroom. And it keeps growing; a crescendo of pierced notes in angry melodies, and Charles can't breathe. Is this how Erik is feeling?

The song ends suddenly and he finds himself holding his breath, afraid of moving, in case his heart breaks even more. Is he really the cause of such anger in Erik?

The overwhelming silence left is broken by a voice he doesn't recognize, probably the mentor's.  
“There's no denial you possess a perfect technique, Lehnsherr” the man talks with pretty accented English.  
“But?” Erik voice answers, cold and cutting, his German accent stronger than ever. Foreign in Charles’ ears.  
“I don't know, really. What happened? The few past weeks you've been improving so much! There was a warm quality to your music, something comfortable and deep. Where has that gone now? You're back at playing like a perfect robot” Charles bites his lips.  
“Is it really that bad to play like this?” Erik's voice holds a note of something Charles can't really name. Despair? Anger? It makes his throat close in a painful and burning knot.  
“Not bad, you really are an excellent player. But you need that something to be more, to be one of the big names out there. You need that something to be noticed” Erik says something too low to be heard, and there's movement inside the classroom “Let's just try again next Friday, okay?” the door opens then and the mentor walks out, eyes still inside of the classroom, then nods and walks away, not seeing Charles sitting there.

The door is left ajar and Charles doesn't move, waiting for Erik to come out next or something to happen, and then he hears the piano again, more clear now with the open door.

The melody now is [slow, heavy. Sad.](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/gz6lcg4esh/Ludwig_van_Beethoven_-_I._Adagio_sostenuto.mp3) He knows this piece, he's heard it in movies or commercials. It's painful. It's really painful. Charles stands up, opens the door slowly and stays there, looking at Erik.

Eyes closed, mouth in a tight line, his brows furrowed, his shoulders rigid. He's the pure image of restrained pain. And he did this. He made Erik, wonderful, caring, unique Erik turn into this, a hurt person who plays the most painful of melodies in the most restrained of ways. It's all his fault, for not knowing how to deal with things in a responsible way. It's time to fix it all.

“Erik...” there's an out of tune note, strident, and the melody stops completely. Charles sees how different emotions play on Erik's face when he sees Charles there. He feels them in his mind. Hope, anger, sadness.  
“What are you doing here?” his voice barely a whisper. Oh god, he's so, so sorry.  
“I want to talk to you”  
“There's nothing we have to talk about” Erik stands up and turns, his back towards Charles.  
“You know that's not true...” there's one or two seconds of silence that hurt Charles' ears, and then Erik sighs.  
“Okay. Let's talk” and turns, and Charles can only think please, please let me fix this, don't let me fuck it up again.  
“I'm really, really sorry” Erik frowns “I acted like an idiot; I should have checked my phone earlier. I understand why you thought what Remy said was true”  
“And wasn't it true?” Erik keeps frowning, but his voice is broken, and Charles just wants to fix this and hold him forever.  
“... I'm not going to lie, Remy has reasons to think what he said was the case, but it wasn't. Not with you” he notices Erik's intake of breath and hopes, hopes, hopes.  
“I am different?”  
“Of course you are. Don't tell me you don't know, at all, how different you are to me” he's looking into Erik's eyes, pleading the other to please understand him. His mind is open and ready to send Erik any glimpse of his inner self to try and make the German believe him.  
“I did... I thought so, but then...” Erik sighs, looks to the floor, sits at the piano stool, defeated.  
“I know, I was an idiot, you have all the rights to be angry. But it wasn't like that, it was just a bad way of dealing with things?”  
“Maybe... maybe I didn't deal with things properly, either” and oh Charles could just fall to the floor and cry and kiss Erik's hands for hours. “It's just... you never said anything, really. I mean, what even are we?”  
“What are we? What do you mean?” and he really doesn't understand.  
“What do you feel for me?” Oh. “Are we... were we a couple, or... you just don't say!” and he looks frustrated and Charles understands, he just let things follow their natural course and didn't think on labelling, since everything was too new for him, too. And now Erik wants those labels, or at least needs them for reassurance. And he can do this. Can't he?  
“We...” he bites his lip, again. Suddenly terrified. He's never said those words, he's never really called anyone 'boyfriend' properly, he's never said 'I love you'. Never. And it's scary to say it now, because now he would mean it, now it's real, and it would be something that would stay. You can’t take those words back. No going back.  
“... okay” Erik stands up and grabs his messenger bag, putting his score book inside, and putting on his jacket.  
“Wha-where are you going?” Charles walks up to him and grabs his sleeve.  
“It's okay, Charles. I understand. I thought it was more than it really was. I'm just...” and Erik looks away, eyes getting red, and Charles' heart stops. Oh no, no. No.  
“Erik, no!! It's not like that”  
“Please, Charles...” Erik's voice breaks at the last word and Charles let's him go, speechless.

Erik nods as in goodbye and walks out of the classroom. Charles stays there. Feeling like the immense idiot he is. And still, not sure, still afraid. It now really feels like he doesn't deserve Erik. He’s nothing but a coward.

* * *

Erik has gone back to Germany for some days. Maybe for the whole holidays. Kitty told him. Seems she met Erik at Santa Maria Novella train station; he was carrying a suitcase, and she asked, and he told her.

Florence has never felt more empty or grey.

He doesn't understand himself, right now. On one side, it feels like everything is so stupid. They are both pretty interested in each other, that's clear. More than interested. He really likes Erik a lot, and knows Erik likes him back. They wouldn't be fighting or whatever they are doing right now if there wasn't any kind of feel. Plus, Erik told him as much the last time they talked.

But that's the thing, Erik kind of wanted something that Charles was not sure of giving. It was special, and wonderful, and Erik made his soul soar and his world was brighter and more focused, and he made him want to paint in all the colours of the palette. And yet, something inside him was stopping it all from happening. What if it's just a big infatuation? What if it's just a huge crush? What if he says big words and then everything is over in the near future? How to turn back then? What if Erik gets tired, or himself gets tired? Once those big words leave his mouth they become a stagnant true, impossible to erase. It would be there, between them, forever. Changing everything.

But everything has already changed, hasn't it? The proof of it is him, alone and sad and lost, and Erik somewhere in Germany, out of reach.

And it was all so wonderful, all those days together, those weeks spent on each other's company. Erik's wit and sarcasm, his misanthropic comments that always made him laugh, his debates about mutants and why there are so few, his passion every time they talked about music. His gaze every time he looked at Charles.

By some miracle, someone as perfect and special as Erik liked him. Liked him a lot. Probably more than that. And he pushed him away by acting like a spoiled, scared kid.

And yet, he still wasn't sure of what to do.

It's the tenth of December when the landlady of his building stops him on his way up to his apartment, giving him a small package sent to his name. He thanks her and walks up the stairs, checking the package, seeing there's no remittent nor stamp, so it probably was given to the landlady at hand.

Once inside his place, he takes his jacket and scarf off, the weather gone completely cold in the last week, and throws it over the couch. Then, proceeds to open the package.

It's a USB pen. Nothing written on it, no message inside the package. He walks towards the coffee table where his laptop is sleeping, clicks to turn it back on, sits on the couch and puts the pen in. The laptop scans it, clean of virus, and then opens a folder. It’s called ‘new folder’, nothing giving him any clue at all about the contents. His curiosity beyond picked, he double clicks on it to open it. There's an audio file. His heart beats out of rhythm.

The audio file is labelled 'for Charles'.

He double clicks on it, his iTunes opening. [The song starts playing](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/vfx5nvgtbo/Yiruma_-_River_flows_in_you_1_.mp3).

Soft notes, almost whispering. Then the melody starts playing, so soft, so light. It's only a piano, no other instrument. And he knows, he knows Erik is the one playing this. It's melancholic, hopeful but sad, soft but powerful.

This song is talking directly to his soul, expressing without words all the feelings Charles just saw a glimpse of. This is Erik baring himself for Charles, and it's the most beautiful thing Charles has ever heard. So delicate, so careful. He can almost feel Erik's fingertips running on his skin, touching him with the same reverence he's playing those notes, those melodies. And he understands it. Erik is saying he loves him. Erik has written a song for him, just to tell him he loves him.

By the time the last note fades, he knows he is crying. He knows another thing. He knows what to do, now. He's not afraid anymore.

Grabbing his jacket again and his keys he runs out of his apartment, forgetting his scarf and gloves, and not caring. He rings on his landlady door, asking her who brought the package as soon as she opens the door. She's startled, probably he still has teary eyes. He doesn't care.  
“It was that pretty tall kid from the other time, short hair, _forastiero_...” foreigner. Erik. He’s back.  
“Thank you!” and he runs out into the street, and keeps running down the street towards the Duomo.

Erik is back. Erik is in Florence again and stopped by his place to give him that pen. And he's been an idiot, almost letting this wonder slip through his fingers.

He runs and runs, out of breath when he reaches the Vecchio bridge, but not stopping. He continues walking faster, his heart beating out of his chest in anxiety and nerves and lack of oxygen. Erik is there, so close, he can't wait anymore. Running again once he's crossed the bridge, by the Arno side, and finally down into San Frediano street where Erik's apartment is. He's been there a couple of times during the wonderful weeks they spent together, and once when it all went down. He's extremely glad about it now, knowing exactly where to go and which doorbell to ring.

“ _Si?_ ” Erik’s voice comes out of the intercom, and Charles feels his heart soar.  
“Erik!”  
“... Charles? What...”  
“Can I come in? Please?” he's not discarding begging if he has to do that.  
“... okay” the door buzzes and he pushes it open and runs all the way to Erik's second floor flat.

The door is open. Charles takes a deep breath, tries to calm his heart, and walks in. Erik is nowhere to be seen, so he just enters and closes the door behind him. The place is warm and Charles notices then how his fingers are freezing and his neck is extremely cold.

“Erik?”

Erik walks into the living room from the hall, and just stares at Charles. His gaze is uncertain, frowning but not in an angry way. Probably he doesn't know what to expect. Not like Charles can blame him, he's been a fucking roller coaster, the way he's been acting.

“You're back” obviously.  
“I am” Erik crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. _How much have I hurt you?_  
“... you gave the package to the landlady, right?” Erik gazes towards the balcony doors.  
“I did” then he turns his gaze towards Charles, searching “have you... opened it?”

Damn it all, Charles thinks. He takes two steps covering the distance between him and Erik, grabs the pianist's face and kisses his mouth. Erik inhales sharply and is frozen for what seems an eternity, but then slowly, carefully, responds to the kiss. Charles could cry again. He's missed this more than he thought. Erik breaks the kiss and leans his head back, looking at Charles eyes. He looks so hopeful, but his mind feels so cautious. It's so painful to watch, to feel.

“What...” he starts asking.  
“I love you” and that's it. That's what he was so scared about, admitting to himself that this was love, that he loved Erik, that Erik has the power to destroy him now, if he wanted. And he was scared of giving the other that power, to giving anyone that power. But not anymore.  
“What” Erik whispers.  
“I love you, Erik, I've loved you since before I even knew it. I'm an idiot, I'm a coward and an idiot and I almost let you go away but...” he looks into Erik's eyes, green pools of hope, brighter than ever, and knows for certain that this is right “if you forgive me, if you give me another chance, I promise I'm not messing this up again. I'm not going to be scared anymore”  
“Charles, you are serious” it's not a question, and Charles loves Erik a little more for noticing he is indeed serious about this.  
“I love you” and now that he's said it he's never going to stop.  
“Idiot” is what Erik answers, his voice a mere groan “Imbecile. You... god, I love you too” and it's Erik who kisses Charles now.

It's fast and wild and pure fire. Erik is practically crushing him in his arms, against his chest, and there's nowhere else he would like to be that in those arms, with those lips glued to his. It feels like an eternity and at the same time too soon when Erik breaks apart, one of his hands raised to caress Charles' face, reverently, and Charles shivers.

“Is this real” Erik whispers. Charles smiles.  
“It is. I'm so sorry for taking so long to catch up”  
“Better late than never” Erik smiles softly, Charles kisses his lips again, having missed that smile too much. “Your hands are freezing” Erik grabs both his hands and holds them between his own, trying to warm them.  
“I ran all the way here, forgot my gloves” he shrugs. Erik frowns at him.  
“You really are an idiot” Erik says with such tenderness. Charles laughs. It all feels wonderful. It feels right. “I'll make you a warm tea?”  
“I'll love you even more then” Erik lets go of one of his hands and holding the other pulls Charles after him, towards the kitchen.  
“Then I'll make you a tea every day” and Charles chuckles and envelops Erik's waist from behind, resting his face on the other's shoulders while Erik grabs the kettle and proceeds to fill it with water.

[](http://s35.photobucket.com/user/sugar_pain/media/forcharles8s.jpg.html)

It's stupid, really, how natural it all feels now. He's spent so many days lost, practically sure that all would go to hell if he confessed to himself his real feelings, that it's shocking how normal and natural this feels. Erik preparing a tea for him, his free hand over Charles' ones crossed over his stomach. It's like everything is in its right place, and he makes sure to send that thought to Erik’s mind. He’s not going to let the other doubt him anymore.

They sit at the couch, a blanket over their legs, Erik turned towards him, full attention on him. Charles sips his tea, the warmth so welcome in his already painful throat. He explains, then, why he acted the way he did. He confesses about being afraid, about not knowing how to act in this situation because it just never happened before. Erik's gaze keeps getting warmer and warmer, all shadows of doubt leaving him.

“It's not like I acted properly, either...” Erik blushes, and Charles swears to himself he's going to make the other blush as much as possible, always. It looks that good. “I went completely 'all or nothing' on you, and that was unfair. But really, it's just... you're awesome”  
“What?” he snorts  
“No, really, you are. You are funny, and smart, and charming and so polite. Everyone loves you. And you look at the world with passion and colours, I mean, look at your drawings! Where I see annoying people or cold landscapes, you see wonder and beautiful shapes and colours” He knows he is probably blushing now “And I just thought, how could this guy ever like me?”  
“Oh, Erik...”  
“I’m serious. I still don't know why you're interested in me. We're like, complete opposites. So when I thought I could maybe have you I was so desperate for it to happen I reacted like that”  
“We're not opposites, Erik, not really” and Erik is looking at him incredulously. He chuckles. “Really! I actually think we're pretty similar. We have the same views on things, mostly. You just close yourself to find your music, and I open myself to find my colours” and it's real, Erik and him, they're like two colours of the same canvas. Two notes of the same melody. Complementary.  
“One thing is sure” Erik smiles amusedly at him “we're both useless when it comes to relationships” Charles laughs.  
“Well, we're always on time to learn, aren't we?”  
“Should we, then? I mean, learn. Together” and he understands what Erik is saying, and he's not going to make that mistake ever again.  
“Only if you're okay with having me as your boyfriend” Erik’s answering smile is worth everything. The following kiss, even more.

They spend the rest of the evening there, cuddling on Erik's couch, kissing and caressing and talking, just looking into each other's eyes. Smiling. Believing this is for real.

Charles discovers there's nothing to be afraid of. Things aren't going to change and, if they do, the change will be for the better. Just looking at Erik's eyes makes him certain about it.

* * *

It's only two days for Christmas when Erik receives an important call.

They're at Erik's place. He's been playing the piano ( _this is Tchaikovsky, Charles, not Rachmaninov_ ) and Charles has been sprawled on the couch behind said piano, in the loft place of Erik's flat, papers thrown everywhere, painting with pastels everything that Erik's music brings to his mind. The past days have been a dream. They haven't left each other's company at all, just when they had to attend a class or a meeting. They've been hugging at every chance, kissing at every second, and making love at every possible surface they could find inside their apartments. Not a dream, no. Paradise.

Erik answers the phone call and frowns. He barely talks, just a few 'sure, yes, of course I'll be there' and then hangs. Charles sits up straight and raises his brows questioningly at Erik, who's frowning down at his phone.

“It was my mentor” Charles nods, Erik is still looking at the phone “Krystian Zimerman is giving a recital in Florence tomorrow. My mentor told him about me... he wants to hear me play” Charles has no idea who Zimerman is, but seems like a big name and Erik looks disbelieving so it must be something big.  
“That's amazing!” Erik turns to look at him, a raised eyebrow.  
“You know who Zimerman is?” Charles shrugs.  
“No idea, but sounds like something important?” Erik smiles, then laughs softly, then stands up from the piano stool and in two steps is in front of Charles, throwing himself on him, hugging him tightly.  
“You silly man” Charles hugs him back, kisses the side of his face “Krystian Zimerman is one of the best pianists in the world, actually” okay, wow, not something big but huge “and he's going to hear me play”  
“Erik, this is really awesome” he kisses Erik's face again because it really is awesome, and Erik is an awesome player and deserves this chance, whatever it means.  
“It is” Erik whispers. He leans back then, looks Charles in the eye “will you come with me?”  
“Won't I bother...”  
“I want you there, by my side” and Erik says it so solemnly, so heartfelt, Charles smiles from ear to ear.  
“Then I'll be there, love” and kisses Erik's smile.

Erik is smoking like a chimney at the conservatoire entrance. He doesn't want to say anything because he can feel Erik's nerves through his telepathy, so he just grabs Erik's free hand and squeezes. He sends a thought at him 'you'll be amazing, like you always are'. Erik squeezes back his hands, tense smile towards him.

The mentor walks up to them then, a man of medium stature, white hair and white beard walking next to him, and he feels Erik physically stiffen. That man must be the one called Zimerman. They are introduced, hands shaken, and proceed to walk towards a hall he's never been in before, a larger room with a beautiful black grand piano at the back, and rows of chairs in front of it. A performance room, probably.

“Sit anywhere you want, love” Erik whispers to him. Charles nods, doubts one second about it but then tiptoes and kisses Erik's cheek. It was the right thing to do, as he can feel Erik relaxing and smiling tenderly at him.  
“Good luck” he says, even if he knows Erik doesn't need it. He's an awesome piano player. He's going to leave them all speechless.

Erik walks to the piano stool, talks something with his mentor. Charles can hear the famous pianist asking him what Erik's going to play. “Chopin”, Erik answers, and proceeds to sit down at the stool.

There's a couple of silent seconds. Charles checks the famous pianist, who's solemnly looking at Erik's posture or something. The mentor is sitting next to him, also looking at Erik, concentrated. Erik has his eyes closed, breathing calmly, slowly. He moves his hands gracefully over the piano keys, stays still for some seconds, and starts playing.

[The song starts weirdly](http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/qac3niod1d/F._Chopin_-_Polonaise_no._6_op._53_in_A_flat_Major_-Hroque-_Pollini_.mp3), with a strong chord and fast notes and a rhythm Charles can't really understand. And then there's a crescendo towards something that sounds like a regal march, a hymn to heroes, to battles won. Charles' eyes widen. Erik looks more regal than ever, his back straight, his eyes sure, calm, commanding. His hands moving precise like a surgeons', and the piano is alive, the room is filled with its melodies, and Charles finds himself smiling. It's a really uplifting melody.

He closes his eyes and his mind flies, his telepathy reaching out to the perfect structure of Erik's mind, brilliant and musical and perfect. Charles is mesmerized. Opening his eyes he finds he is speechless.

The tempo of the song increases and Erik has a soft smile on his face and oh, he's enjoying this isn't he? Charles sends a soft wave of joy and wonder towards him, and the song keeps growing, building itself wider, higher, and Erik is a soldier, Erik is a commander, Erik is a king, and the notes are his armies.

And Charles thinks _oh, Erik, you stupid being. Look at you, all majestic, all magnificent, and thinking yourself too less for me_. Thinking himself not enough for someone like Charles, who's just starting to understand how blessed he is for being there, for having the luck to listen to this music, to live this moment. To have that man, one who he's sure will conquer the world, stage after stage, with his hands and his piano and his magnificent aura. To have him, to own his heart, to be his.

The song reaches its final crescendo and Erik is smiling, and the world is brighter than ever, and Charles' heart is going to burst with joy.

The song ends. There's two seconds of silence, and then Erik's mentor applauds, and Charles applauds, and Zimerman is on his feet, shaking Erik's hand, who is shining.

“Mister Lehnsherr, that was a performance like I haven't heard in many years” he hears Zimerman say “I foresee a brilliant future for you, son. We need more passionate players like you” and he barely hears anything else, a sense of immense joy flooding his mind, and he knows it comes from Erik. Erik shakes Zimerman's hand again, thanks him, thanks his mentor, and then both older men leave the room, chatting animatedly. And Erik turns towards him.

There's the biggest smile Charles has ever seen on the other's face. It’s wide and bright and shameless, and positively the most charming and gorgeous smile Charles has ever seen. Erik walks towards him, rests his hands on Charles' waist, and Charles doesn't lose one beat, surrounding Erik's neck with his own arms.

“Did you hear him?” Erik's voice is shaking with barely restrained joy.  
“I heard him” he smiles up at Erik, who simply leans forward and steals his breath away with a soul deep kiss.  
“It was you” he says once he breaks apart from Charles' lips, breathless “It was all thanks to you”  
“Don't be silly, the talent is completely yours”  
“No, no, it was you, you gave me the heart my music was missing” Erik's eyes are brighter than ever. Charles fears he’ll never stop being humbled and grateful for being a part of this “you gave me the love I needed. Charles, Charles I owe you everything, love” and kisses him again, passionate and hungry and so tender at the same time. Charles feels like he could cry at any moment. “I love you so much” and then he can barely stop tears from prickling in his eyes.  
“I love you too” there are so many things he would like to say, so many things he would like to explain to Erik. How thankful he is for this, for the second chance, how he thinks he is the one who should be speechless and thanking Erik for even looking his way. But he can't, not now, the words a knot in his throat, too close to tears.

But he will. One day, he will tell him everything. Or maybe he'll tell him a little every day, step by step. After all this feels like something that's going to last a long, long time, and he's going to have time to find the words. To make Erik understand that this is all he didn't know he needed, but now can't live without.

By now he's okay with kissing Erik until they're both breathless, and pull him back to his apartment and make love to him until the sun raises again, whispering I love yous between caresses. Yes, he's okay with this.

He now has forever with Erik. And he's not scared of it anymore.

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom. I'm not a writer, but sometimes I do feel like it, just to have some fun. I don't mean to write epic things, I just hope you all had a good time reading this :)
> 
> English is not my native language so really sorry if there was some horrendous mistake!!
> 
> The song used as 'For Charles' is Yiruma's River flows in you.
> 
> The other songs, in order, are
> 
> 1\. Piotr Tomaszewski - Rota's A time for us  
> 2\. Dubravka Tomšič - Scarlatti - Sonata in D minor L. 366  
> 3\. Chopin - Fantaisie-Impromptu opus 66 in C-sharp Minor  
> 4\. Johannes Brahms - Walzer As-Dur Op. 39 Nr. 15 - Jrg Hanselmann, Klavier  
> 5\. Annie Fischer - Beethoven- Sonata 23 In F Minor, Op. 57, -Appassionata- - 3. Allegro Ma Non Troppo  
> 6\. Ludwig van Beethoven - I. Adagio sostenuto  
> 7\. Maurizio Pollini - F. Chopin - Polonaise no. 6 op. 53 in A flat Major -Heroique-


End file.
